Bridge Over Troubled Water
by the morrighan
Summary: The lost lamb returns to the shepherd.  The final wrap-up to the previous Atlantis series.
1. Chapter 1

Bridge Over Troubled Water

Black.

The color filled John Sheppard's vision. It was a swath of darkness, of blackness with no light to illumine it, no other colors to break up the bleakness of the singular shade. It perfectly matched his dour mood, the grim black hole of despair and guilt and sorrow he kept buried within him. The pit of blackness and ugliness that he couldn't fill no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he drank or went through the Stargate or tried to pretend that everything was fine, that he was getting back to normal and nothing extraordinary had happened when he had ventured through the space/time rift to save an alternate Earth from the Wraith.

Nothing at all.

John grunted, hearing the alarm beginning to buzz. He realized the blackness was in fact one of his black t-shirts and not the manifestation of his gloom. He was sprawled face first on his bed, still clad in yesterday's clothes. He grunted again as the alarm became more insistent. Its tones were annoying. He reached over and slammed his palm onto the clock. He slammed it again and the alarm fell silent at last.

He rolled over on the small bed, onto his back and stared blearily at the ceiling. The blue and green shades should have been soothing but instead he was irritated by them. He sat, blinked and made a face as the horrible taste in his mouth informed him exactly what he had been doing most of the night. As if the evidence of the scattered beer cans on the floor around his bed weren't enough of a condemnation.

John clambered off of the bed and slouched towards the bathroom. He ran a hand through his wildly disordered hair, across his stubbly face. He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like hell. His green eyes were bloodshot, full of weariness and ire. He scowled, sighed and stripped to take a shower. He knew he had to at least attempt to make himself presentable.

Everyone would notice if he didn't make an effort.

He stood under the spray as the hot water pounded him. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back and vigorously scrubbed the soap along his body. He licked his lips as he caught hold and began a more frenetic motion, imagining several salacious and sensual visions in his mind. He roved over the women of Atlantis, deciding he needed to get laid and laid soon. He pondered which woman to pick for the brief but satisfying sex. It wouldn't mean anything, just a physical release and some quick enjoyment.

It never meant anything.

He moaned, grunted, and freed himself. He rinsed off, smirking at his quick release. He knew he would have no problem finding a woman for a more satisfying sexual encounter but the pleasure never lasted long enough. His mind briefly flitted to a woman with long brown hair and a white lab coat, a woman with passionate brown eyes but he chased the memory aside with vicious determination.

There was no sense in dwelling on things that could never be.

He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel to wipe the water off his body. He shaved, brushed his teeth, fussed with his hair. He dressed in his usual accouterment of a black t-shirt and blue BDU pants. He strapped on his thigh holster and slid his 9mm into it securely. He pulled on socks and his military boots. He eyed himself in the mirror again. At last he was presentable, or as near to it as he could come after a night of binge drinking and sleeplessness.

John exited his room. His stomach grumbled and he headed for the cafeteria, wanting breakfast and a cup of hot, hot coffee to clear his mind. He nodded at people who passed him. People he knew but didn't bother to greet by name. He smiled at women who were giving him the eye, who were always giving him the eye or just staring at him in unabashed desire and admiration.

He entered the cafeteria and grabbed a tray. He watched as it was filled with scrambled eggs, toast and a slice of bacon. He took a whiff of the hot coffee being poured into his cup and made his way to an empty table. He began to eat, thinking of nothing. He sipped the coffee, feeling more like himself as the morning promised to erase all the gloom and pensive ponderings of the previous evening.

"Morning, John!" Rodney McKay took the seat across from his friend, uninvited. He set down an overflowing tray. Every kind of breakfast food imaginable was heaped upon it like some offering to appease an angry god. When in fact it was to appease Rodney's appetite. He began to eat and talk at the same time, an annoying and somewhat disgusting habit that John tried to ignore as he nibbled on his toast. "And how are we this morning, hmm? Never mind. I've been working on those calculations you brought back from that alternate reality and I have to say they are quite fascinating! Intriguing when one considers the possibility of alternate worlds, parallel universes and the like. Oh, I know," he continued to John's glare, "we have more immediate problems like the Wraith and how to boost our own power ratios since we are down a ZPM but hey we gave it over to defend Earth so I can't really argue about that now can I?"

"No."

Rodney drank some coffee, and John drank in the brief moment of silence before the physicist began anew. "I think I have a promising lead on a ZPM and we should probably contemplate a mission there, to M1K439, you know, the waterfall planet. I found some references in the data base to a power source and it could not only prove to be Ancient but—"

"No."

"—a possible alternative to what we already use now to what do you mean no? No?" Rodney's enthusiasm was halted mid-sentence as John's word finally registered. He set down his fork. "What do you mean, no?" he repeated.

"No. We don't need to go there. We've been there," John stated simply. He sipped some coffee and stabbed his food with his fork.

"I know that! But I think we overlooked something vital and this time we should take a full recon team and not just do a flyover."

"No."

Rodney sighed. "I don't suppose you would care to elaborate on your reasons why you are refusing a perfectly justifiable mission?"

"No." But this time John smiled to further irritate the scientist. He was about to add some cutting remark when a voice brayed over the comm unit.

"Colonel Sheppard to the 'Gate room! Colonel Sheppard to the 'Gate room!"

"Gotta go, McKay. Could be vital."

"Not as vital as this conversation! John!" Rodney called, but John was on his feet and striding out of the cafeteria. People made way for him. Rodney sighed, gave a last fond look at his breakfast and quickly made to follow the military commander to head off today's disaster.

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The control room was a sea of calm, but technicians were swarming at their consoles. Radek Zelenka spun in his chair and felt a wave of relief as both John and Rodney reached him. "We've got unauthorized activation of the 'Gate."

"Location?" John asked, watching as the Stargate's chevrons began to light up one by one.

"Close the Iris!" Rodney said almost at the same time, shoving a technician aside to quickly type the commands. A shimmer of silver blocked the Gate after the KAWOOSH erupted. "Incoming transmission from M1M396," Rodney announced.

"What? That's, that's Pleistocene Park!" Evan Lorne exclaimed. He had rushed to the control room hearing the summons of his superior officer, knowing that more than likely he would be needed. He clutched a P90 in his hands, exchanged a look with John.

"Sir! It's Bath's IDC. Receiving. Authenticating! Sir, orders?"

John was staring at the shimmering, shielded wormhole. Disbelief vying with suspicion. He felt uncertain, out of sorts and didn't know what to do, what to say. His normal brash confidence had seemingly fled. His heart was hammering in his chest and he could feel a cold sweat bathing his skin. He tried to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat.

"That's impossible! Bath was killed there! Horribly killed by those, those things, those sub-Wraith," Evan reminded, clutching his gun all the tighter. The creatures had also killed a friend of his, a member of his team and he hadn't quite let the grief go. Not yet.

"Open the Iris," John decided, finding his voice.

"What? Are you crazy? We know it's not Bath! It could be anything out there! What if it's one of those sub-Wraith creatures?" Rodney objected.

"I said open the damn Iris!" John ordered gruffly. "Lock down the 'Gate room. Delta, positions!" He moved to the glass wall. Below him the marines flanked the Stargate, their guns aimed at its shimmering center.

Rodney swore, but with a touch of a button he made the Iris dissolve.

The wormhole shimmered like a silver pool. It was silent. The marines kept their weapons trained on it but nothing emerged from the Stargate. Terse minutes passed. John's lips were pursed together as he stood, arms folded across his chest. He stared balefully at the wormhole, as if daring something or someone to come through the device.

There was a crackle of static. Then a voice. Weak. Female.

"Atlantis…copy? Atlantis…are you read…me…Doctor O'Meara from the…expedition to…Wraith…the…Colonel Sheppard? John?" The voice seemed to crack over the name. "There's an entelodont and it will...Evan? Evan, can you hear me? Atlantis, this is…"

Abruptly the voice stopped. The wormhole disengaged, dissipating into nothing.

There was silence in the control room. Stunned silence. As if everyone was afraid to speak, having heard what was in all likelihood impossible. Or so they had believed. Doctor O'Meara had been left for dead over a month ago on M1M396. Dragged away by the horrid sub-Wraith creatures the team had encountered on the mission. John had lost hold of her and she had been taken away by the creatures.

He could still feel her fingers slipping out of his even now.

John was already moving, jolted from his shock, his surprise. "Dial it up, now! Lorne, with me! Get Beckett down here now! Let's go!" He spun to a comm unit and slammed his hand on it. "Beckett, to the 'Gate room now! Emergency!"

"Whoa, wait! John, it can't possibly be that missing scientist! The cryptozoologist? There's no way!" Rodney was standing near the console, his fingers hovering over the dialing device as he tried to process what had just happened.

"Paleozoologist," John corrected icily, pausing to meet his friend's gaze. He saw the concern, the worry. Only Rodney had caught a glimpse of how much her loss had affected John. Only Rodney had seen the terrible cost, and had heard about the odd occurrence of John seeing a whole life with this woman before she had been torn away from him. "And there's only one way to find out! Page Beckett now! Lorne, let's go! Dial it up, damn it, and remember it takes two ATA people to do it!"

"Then how in the hell did she dial us?" Rodney asked, but John and Evan were sprinting down to the Gate room. Rodney gestured as Carson Beckett entered the control room.

"What is it, Rodney? I was practically shoved here by a—"

"Dial with me! Then you are going through the 'Gate."

"What? Why?" asked the Scottish doctor, perplexed. He glanced to the 'Gate room to see John and Evan impatiently waiting. "What's happened? Where's the emergency?"

Rodney shrugged. "Apparently there's a ghost on M1M396."


	2. Chapter 2

Bridge Over Troubled Water2

John was the first through the Stargate, P90 slung in his arms. He dodged and darted and almost ran headlong into a herd of enormous, pig-like creatures. "Take cover!" he shouted, diving behind the DHD and firing his weapon. The huge animals snorted, charging, but veered as if hitting a force field. Their large heads swiveled, the bony protuberances shining with what looked like blood. They squealed and charged down the hill, away from the Stargate.

"Bloody hell!" Carson swore, rising to his feet. He had a firm grip of his medical kit and stared round in utter amazement. He took a deep breath as the air was hot, heavy. The oxygen content was higher here, he recalled.

Evan had moved to the DHD and was examining it. "Sir." He pointed. There were bloody handprints on some of the symbols. But in the center of the device there was a dismembered hand. It was withered, with only bits of tattered flesh clinging to it. A man's hand.

"Bath," John identified, realizing how Moira had dialed the 'Gate. "Moira!" he shouted. He spotted a blood trail on the long grass and ran after it. "Moira!"

"John! Oh no!" Carson ran after him, swinging his kit like a weapon as the air was full of noises. Grunts and growls, chattering and squealing. The planet was alive, vibrantly alive with sounds and animals and insects. Giant dragonflies flew overhead and nearly collided with the men. The ground began to shake as an enormous _Indicotherium _was on the move on the plain below them. The screams of birds were almost deafening.

"Sir!" Evan swerved after them and almost fell down the hill, skidding on mud as he spotted a body near the incline, dangerously close to the edge of a cliff. "Moira!"

"Moira!" John got there ahead of him and fell to his knees, dropping his gun. The woman was face downwards, almost falling over the cliff. John gently hauled her to safety and turned her so she was on her back. He stared, almost forgetting to breathe as the familiar features of Moira O'Meara came into view.

She looked terrible. Pale, gaunt. Scratches marred her face. Her rosy lips were chapped. Her brown eyes were closed. Her long brown hair was a fearsome tangle snagged with grass. Her clothes were tattered, bloody, messy and the smell was ripe. Her foot which had been snared by a vicious sub-Wraith claw was wrapped in a shoe and some cloth but blood was leaking from it and the torn flesh revealed a glimpse of bone and a pus-filled abscess.

To John, however, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Good Lord! Moira!" Carson fell to his knees beside John, and touched her throat, her wrist. "Pulse is weak, very weak…we have to get her back now!" He glanced down at her foot and dismay colored his expression seeing the damage. "She's feverish, probably the foot's infected with God knows what! It's been cut into but the mass has returned," he assessed with a frown.

"Dial it up!" John thrust his P90 towards Evan who took it. John snatched her backpack, swung it over his shoulder. Then he carefully lifted Moira in his arms. She was light as air and he felt a panic, but she softly moaned and the wave of relief that she was still alive was palpable. Quickly he carried her to the 'Gate and through the wormhole, the two men on his heels.

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Moira opened her eyes. She closed them again as a harsh, unforgiving light tried to blind her. She listened but could hear only silence. No, there was a strange sound, a hissing noise but it didn't sound like a snake. It sounded like equipment. She opened her eyes again, feeling a hard surface under her, but it wasn't as hard as the ground. Or as soft as the grass.

Abruptly she recognized the interior of the infirmary in Atlantis.

She gasped, sat up and stared round in wonder, not feeling the prick of pain as an IV was dislodged. A machine started beeping but Moira was too stunned to react. She stared round in disbelief, wondering if she was delusional.

"Moira! Moira, love, it's all right!" Carson moved to her, worry on his face, but he smiled and his blue eyes were full of kindness. He gently adjusted the bed so it would support her as she sat, and reinserted the IV. "Moira, can you hear me? Do you know who I am, love?"

Moira met his gaze, felt tears but forced them back with an effort. "Carson?" she whispered. Her voice was soft. Her throat felt dry. As if she hadn't used her voice much in weeks.

"Yes, love. Here." Relief shone on Carson's face. He helped her drink some water. He felt her pulse, grabbed a stethoscope to check her heart. "You're fine, love. Weak but recovering. Moira…Moira…"

"My foot?" she asked, cutting off his sudden emotional reaction. She looked down the length of her bed to see a cast enclosing her injured foot. "Oh."

"Yes, love. I saved it. I had to operate, but the infection is clear. You'll be fine, Moira. Fine. Moira." He dabbed at some tears with a hankie.

"How….how did I…you…how long have I…" Moira stammered, having trouble focusing as questions swarmed. Her memory was cloudy, inconsistent.

"You sent a message through the 'Gate. Do you remember that?" She nodded. Carson smiled. "And John led the charge to find you, with myself and Evan, of course. We found you not far from the 'Gate. We encountered those pig-like animals first, though. Is that why you had to move away from the 'Gate?" She nodded again. "I thought so. You've been out for three days, Moira. You were fighting an infection and a fever and I had to operate but you are fine now."

Moira looked past him, absorbing the information. It didn't sound real. It sounded like it was happening to someone else, but she flexed her foot in the cast and the resultant pain felt very real. She felt disconnected, out of sorts and looked at Carson, then past him again to see a man approaching. "Evan."

Evan smiled, reaching her. He touched her hand, as if having to make certain she was real. "Moira. Moira! Thank God! How…I mean…you…Moira!" He suddenly caught her in a hug.

Moira smiled, returning the hug. "Evan! Evan, I…you…where's my camcorder?" she asked suddenly, looking round.

Evan raised a brow at the odd inquiry. "Your what? Moira, we, we, we thought you were dead." He took a seat near the bed, his hand enclosing hers. His blue eyes were full of emotion. "We even went back twice to look for you but we couldn't find you. We couldn't get a read on your tracking device. Was it cut out of you?" he asked, glancing at her arm but the white scrubs concealed her upper arm from him. "We…Moira…we thought you were dead." He swallowed as remorse assailed him.

Moira nodded. "It's all right, Evan. Where is my, my camcorder?" she repeated, as if it was the most important thing at the moment instead of her seemingly miraculous survival.

"Moira, we tried, we looked for you, I swear! We tried! Colonel Sheppard wouldn't let it go and neither would I, but after we couldn't find you at all we just assumed, we just assumed…how the hell did you survive? The sub-Wraith dragged you away!"

Moira looked away, closing in on herself. "I need my camcorder, Evan."

"Why? Are the answers there? Did you film something significant?"

"No, just animals…I need my camcorder! Where is my camcorder?" she cried, tears in her eyes as a panic seized her. She met his gaze. "Where is my camcorder?"

Evan glanced at Carson who was watching her. "Um, okay. I think Colonel Sheppard has it."

"What?" she exclaimed, then blushed and stared at her hands. She was tangling her fingers together over and over and over. "I…I need it. I need my camcorder, Evan! He can't have it! Please, Evan, I need my camcorder!" she said, starting to weep as she met his gaze. "Do I, do I still have a room here, in Atlantis?" she asked shyly, as if afraid to learn the answer.

"Of course you do, love!" Carson assured.

"Yes, of course!" Evan agreed. "In fact your room hasn't been touched since…since we lost you. Colonel Sheppard's orders. I guess he really felt bad about losing you, guilty that we couldn't find you or save you…Moira…we…" He broke off as guilt assailed him.

"I want to go to my room, please, Carson? I need to go to my room and try to, to feel like myself. Okay? And I need my camcorder! I need my camcorder!" she cried, voice rising to hysterics. "I need my camcorder!"

Carson touched her shoulder. "All right, love. Evan, why don't you escort Moira to her room. Look, love, I've got crutches for you, all right? And then Evan will go and get your camcorder." Carson adjusted the IV. "Relax, love. Evan will get your camcorder and then you need to rest, all right? You can answer all of our questions later when you are feeling up to it. Evan."

Evan stared at Moira. He freed her hand, and followed the doctor across the room. "Doc, is she all right? I mean…what the hell?" He took the crutches that the doctor handed him.

"She's fine. We can't imagine what she's been through and we need to give her time. All she had were that camcorder and that backpack. That was all she had of Atlantis, of her life with her before this, and no doubt it helped her hold on. So get her camcorder for her and let it be, for now."

"Okay, doc. If you think that's best…but we have to know how she survived. Doc, she is Moira, right?" He glanced back at her. She was staring at her hands again, lost in herself.

"Yes, Evan. She is Moira, one hundred percent. Help her to her room and don't ask her anything about her ordeal. We can't push her, not yet. Be sure to get her camcorder for her and we will go from there. Gently now, Evan. Gently."

The two men looked back at Moira. Both were worried, curious, and relieved.

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John was in the conference room, the doors shut. He was staring at Moira's backpack. He was holding the camcorder in his hands, turning it round, recalling how he had fixed it for her. How he had used her ponytail holder to keep the two pieces of the camera together. How her long hair had fallen loose in a glorious cascade of browns and reds. How he had wanted to run his fingers through it and feel the silky softness.

He played the footage again. It was corrupted in places, but was mostly of the various prehistoric animals they had seen on the planet. Most of the footage had been erased and replaced by newer scenes, of the sub-Wraith and then of the curious proto-humans they had encountered. But one scene from that expedition remained.

One fragment.

The camera had panned from the populated plain to show John standing, laughing at something off-camera. It only lasted a few seconds, this piece of film, and it was starting to show the wear and tear of being repeatedly, endlessly played.

It was a telling clue.

Everything else had been recorded over, even footage of the prehistoric animals that had so utterly captivated Moira. But not this. Not this brief footage of John caught in a candid moment. He couldn't remember what he had been laughing about in that brief moment. In that brief moment before all hell broke loose and he had lost Moira. Seemingly forever, but she was back now. Returned to him, but they were strangers. They had just met on that mission, and despite all the future visions and the meeting with the alternate Moira John knew that they were still strangers and things would be odd between them.

He didn't know what to say to her. He didn't know how to proceed. He was utterly clueless as to how to approach her after over a month when he had assumed she was dead when in fact she had been fighting for survival on that planet, seemingly abandoned by him.

He expected her to hate him, to vilify him or to blame him. He expected she would want nothing to do with him. He expected her to berate him, and he wouldn't blame her. Not at all.

Except for this piece of film which told him a very different story.


	3. Chapter 3

Bridge Over Troubled Water3

Moira stood in her room. She stared round, feeling like a stranger. She balanced on the crutches and slowly turned to see Evan watching her. "Thank you, Evan. I just need to…I mean…I really need a shower!" She smiled, but Evan's expression remained serious, concerned. "Will you get my camcorder for me, please? Give me ten minutes to get clean and sorted, okay, and then I need, I mean I would like my camcorder. Okay?"

"Okay, Moira," he said gently, touching her arm. She was verging on tears again and he didn't know what to do or what to say. "I'll give you fifteen, how's that? I'll be back with your camcorder. Moira, it's all right now. You are home and safe. And when you are ready to talk about it I'm here. We're all here."

"Thank you, Evan." She waited. He took the hint and left the room. Moira turned slowly, awkwardly on the crutches and stared round the room again. It was familiar. She recognized all of her things. Her room was exactly the way she had left it. Not exactly. She eyed the bed, limping to it and gratefully sitting upon it for a moment. The green comforter was rumpled, as if someone had been sitting on the bed, or lying upon it. She frowned, curious.

She eyed the bedside table. A pair of empty beer bottles caught the afternoon light filtering through the window and lent a greenish sheen to the books near them. She stared. She didn't drink beer. Someone had been in her room that did, however. She looked round but nothing seemed to be missing, or out of place. There was a fine patina of dust on the table, on the bookshelves. Nothing else was there that didn't belong.

Except for the black wristband on the floor.

She stared at it, heart pounding. She leaned over and snatched it, almost falling over. She caught herself, moving the clunky cast as she balanced on the edge of the bed. She turned the wristband round and round in her hands. Knowing that only one man wore a black wristband like this. The conclusion was inescapable.

Colonel Sheppard had been in her room.

Moira lurched to her feet suddenly, eying the bed. Suddenly she realized why he had kept the room like this, undisturbed. Why the bed was rumpled, the beer bottles forgotten, the wristband neglected on the floor. No doubt the ladies' man had been using her room as some sort of sexual lair for his enjoyment or privacy. The thought made her sick, made her jealous, made her sad.

And angry.

She held onto the anger, finding it more useful than the other emotions clawing at her. She swore, fumed, cursing him over and over in her head as she made her way to the shower. He was going to get an earful, all right, when she could bring herself to confront him over this.

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"Colonel! Colonel Sheppard!" Evan broke into a run as he caught sight of John striding down the hallway towards a transporter.

John paused, turned to see the younger man heading for him. "Major?"

"Sir, I need that camcorder." He pointed at the device clutched in one of John's hands.

"Why?"

"Why?" Evan echoed, finding the question odd. "It's Moira's."

"Yes, major, I am well aware of that."

"She wants it back."

"Oh. Well, I am on my way to the infirmary so I can give it to her myself."

"She's not there, sir."

"What?" Now it was John's turn to stare in puzzlement.

"She's in her room. She wanted to go to her room, and Carson let her. I said I'd return in fifteen once she's settled and give her the camcorder. So." He held out his hand expectantly.

John's fingers tightened on the device. He couldn't explain why. "No. I will give it to her. She's in her quarters, you say. Fine."

"Sir, I think it would be better if I gave it to her," Evan argued, walking with the other man as he began to head in the opposite direction from his original destination.

"I'll return it to her, major."

"No, sir, you don't understand. Moira's rather, um, she needs the camcorder, sir. It's some sort of attachment thing from being stranded for so long, and she needs it to feel secure, I guess."

"Fine. I said I will return it to her."

"I really think I should be the one to return it, sir. She's expecting me and she might get upset if I don't show up or you do. She's rather fragile at the moment and Carson says we have to be gentle with her until she is ready to talk about it."

John stopped. He eyed Evan who was looking at the camcorder again. "I said I will return it to her and I will, major. I'm not going to interrogate her or anything, all right? I suggest you resume your duties. You can check on her later. Maybe she needs some space. Did you ever consider that?"

Evan met his gaze, startled at the sudden hostility. "All right, sir. I was just thinking of what's best for Moira. Frankly, sir, she hardly knows you and she is my friend, on my team, and I—"

"And I am the military commander of Atlantis, Major Lorne, and therefore she falls under my purview now." John increased his stride, outpacing the other man. Anger fueled every step and he couldn't understand why. He only knew he was pissed now and he loosened his grip on the camcorder lest he break it.

He halted in front of her room. Suddenly he felt nervous and had to gentle his grip on the camcorder again. He licked his lips. Glanced up and down the hallway but he was quite alone. He felt like a teenager on his first date and smirked at the comparison. He knocked on the door. Silence. He knocked again. "Moira, er, Doctor O'Meara?" he corrected awkwardly.

The door opened with a silent whoosh. Moira stared at him then abruptly backed away, using the crutches. "Colonel Sheppard."

John took the motion as an invitation and entered the room. He waved the door behind him, staring at her. She had on a clingy green t-shirt that only enhanced her curves and a pair of pants with one leg cut along the seam to accommodate the cast on her foot. "You cut your hair," he said. Her brown hair was slightly damp and fell just past her shoulders now.

"I had to," she said, turning to face him. Her gaze fell to the camcorder in his hand and an expression of both relief and mortification colored her face. "Is that mine?"

"Yes." He handed it to her. She took it, clutched it like a talisman. She blushed suddenly, and moved backwards to sit awkwardly on the bed.

"Thank you." She stared at the device as she held it tightly.

"Moira, I…um…look, I…" John didn't know what to say.

"What were you doing in my room, Colonel Sheppard?" she asked, suddenly realizing he was still standing there. "I believe that those…" she pointed to the beer bottles, "and this is yours." She held out the black wristband, glaring at him.

"Oh. Thanks." He neared, taking the wristband and sliding it onto his wrist.

"That's it? Don't think I don't know what you were doing in here, Colonel Sheppard! Don't think for a moment I didn't figure it out!" She lurched to her feet again. "It's disgusting! How could you? My God, you couldn't use your own room or whatever woman of the moment's room for your, your sexual escapades? Don't think for a moment I am not going to lodge a complaint with Doctor Weir once I can get to the, the office and I will make damn sure your lascivious conduct is noted and how you used, you used, you used my—" she stammered, unable to stop.

"Whoa, whoa, wait! Moira, of course not! Is that what you think? That I was fucking various women in here while you were stranded on that planet?" he asked in shock.

"Yes."

"Yes? Of course not, Moira!" he snapped, angered at her accusations. "How could you even think that? I wasn't doing anything like that, for God's sake!"

"Oh really? Then why the hell were you in my room, John? Why?" Her voice was rising along with his, as their anger collided.

"Because I always hoped that somehow, somehow you would be found, or survive or…" he began lamely, loath to say the real reason.

"That explains why you kept the room like this and didn't give it to someone else! Why were you in here, John! Why were you in my fucking room?" she all but shouted.

"Because I couldn't let go of you!"

They stared at each other as John's shout faded into silence. Moira stumbled and sat on the bed again. She clutched the camcorder to her, as if it would shield her. "Get out." She powered the device and played through the footage to the once scene she sought, the one scene she needed although the man depicted was standing right in front of her. Somehow the man on the footage seemed more real to her than the actual man in her room.

She knew the man on the footage. The man in her room was a stranger.

John swallowed past a nervous lump in his throat. He ignored her soft words. He sat next to her on the bed, his thigh just brushing hers. "But I did let go, didn't I? I did let go…and lost you. I am so sorry, Moira, for that. We went back, you know. Twice. But we couldn't find you. I couldn't find you. We thought…we just assumed you were…I mean, after Bath and all, we just thought that you met the same, same fate. I knew, I mean I knew you were gone but I just couldn't quite let you go…I mean…I…"

"It's all right, colonel. You did all that you could and made a logical assumption based on the facts," she said tonelessly. She was staring at the camcorder screen, as if talking to the man displayed there and not the man beside her. "Now get out. Please."

John stared, out of sorts. He stood. She was still staring at the camcorder screen. He slowly walked to the door. Stopped. "I looked at it. The footage. All of it." He turned to see her finally looking at him, staring with dread on her face. "I know, Moira. I know. Because I did the same damn thing. So no, I won't get out. I can't. Not now. Not ever."


	4. Chapter 4

Bridge Over Troubled Water4

Moira swallowed. She eyed the camcorder again, as if the man pictured there would protect her from the man standing in her room. "I…I…um…I…" She felt a wave of tears. "You had no right. To, to do that."

John moved to her. He sat next to her again, his thigh just brushing hers. The solace of contact, however brief sent a warmth through both of them. "I did, Moira. I thought it might give me a clue as to how the hell you survived out there, in the clutches of the sub-Wraith. And it did, in a way. Just like how I…I was in here."

Moira shook her head. "No. You don't understand, colonel." She stared at the camcorder screen again, wiping her eyes.

John gently took the camcorder out of her hands, set it aside. "Then you explain it to me, Moira." He caught her hands in his but she tugged them free, staring at the floor, at the white cast on her foot. At his boots near the cast.

Moira was silent. Trapped in a despairing, embarrassing paradigm of trying to explain to the man with her how the man on the screen had kept her sane, kept her from giving into dismay and kept her fighting. Tears filled her eyes again. "You…you don't understand. How it was. How hard it was to…it was all I had…" She glanced at the camcorder but it was on the other side of John and out of her reach.

"Then explain it to me, Moira," he urged quietly. Gaze locked on her. "Moira."

"No. I…I needed something to hold onto, something to…I needed to pretend that I wasn't alone, that I was…that you were going to, to find me, to help me…you…it was like we—"

"Were together in our heads and we would talk to one another in our heads," he finished for her. "That's what I was doing when I was in here, Moira. I could pretend you were here…that I hadn't lost you. I…look, something happened when I let go…before I let go, I mean, I saw us. I saw a life we had together, I mean we were together, we were lovers, we were married, had kids, the whole shebang and then you were gone and I couldn't let go of that, of us, of you."

Moira met his gaze, wide-eyed, startled at his admission. It was his turn to look away, to feel guilt and an embarrassment at the admission. "John?" She touched his arm, drew her hand away suddenly as he met her gaze. "That…I kept that, that footage of you, like you were with me and you would guide me, give me strength, help me, keep me focused on survival, on…you…I would talk to you and you would tell me what to do, where to go, how to…you…" She looked away from him. "This is insane, John! None of it is real!"

"I know that, Moira, but it is real."

"No! It's not! You have no idea what I went through! You have no idea how I suffered and bled and struggled, struggled just to keep alive and find a way out of there and then to find help, any kind of help but I was delirious, I was wounded, I was sick and all I had was that footage, all I had was, was, was you!"

She burst into tears.

John pulled her into his arms, holding her close, stroking her back. "Moira, Moira, it's all right now. You are home, you are safe, and I will never, never let go again," he vowed into her hair.

Moira clung, trying to stem the flow of tears, of sorrow, of grief. She took a deep, stuttering breath and freed his black t-shirt as her fingers were all but clawing at it. "I'm sorry, John. I couldn't help it. I couldn't. I needed…I needed…I needed to have that, that one thing, that one piece of footage, that one moment with you and I know it doesn't mean anything. I know. But I needed it and I couldn't let go of it, of you. Or rather I couldn't let go of that man on the footage. The man I created inside my head. Don't you see? None of this is real." Her voice was terse, muffled against his chest.

"Maybe not then, Moira, but it is now." She certainly felt very real to him, in his arms, clinging to him as he held onto her. She was warm and soft and yielding. She smelled of soap and vanilla and it was more intoxicating than any expensive perfume. He held her to him, giving her what solace he could. Wanting to say so much but his words fell into silence. He was afraid he had already said too much. But there was so much more he wanted to say. To do.

"No, John." She sat free at last, wiped her eyes. She was calm. Grave. She met his gaze and John fell into the brown depths of passion, emotion, uncertainty. "It wasn't real. It was a figment of our minds. What I did. What you did, here. I guess. It was a chimera. Nothing but imagination. A castle in the air and we have to let it go because it was never real. It wasn't you, colonel. It was him. The man on that screen." She glanced over at the camcorder. "It wasn't me. It was whatever idea you had of me, what you imagined me to be or wanted me to be."

He turned her face to his. His fingers gently caressed the scratches on her cheek, her jaw. "Does that really matter, Moira? We're both here now and this is no illusion, no, what did you call it? No chimera. What we feel now is—"

"No, John. That's just it. What we feel now is nothing. It's colored by what we pretended, what we invented in our heads. Don't you see? There's nothing here but that and that isn't real." She turned from him, from his warm touch. He was heartbreakingly beautiful, his handsome face drawn in concern, in sincerity. His brilliant green eyes were full of passion, of solemnity. His full, perfect lips so close to hers she could have wept from the wanting of them. The wanting of feeling him, tasting him, touching him in reality instead of the phantom that was in her mind. That was on the camcorder still.

The man she knew so well, so intimately, at least in her mind.

The man she could never have.

John knew she was right but he also knew she was wrong. He scooted closer to her. His thigh was pressing on hers now. A warm, insistent pressure of body to body. Suggestive. More telling than any words he might choose. "Nevertheless, Moira O'Meara, we are both here now. And that's all that matters. I'm going to kiss you now, Moira."

"What?" she asked, startled. She turned to him, brown eyes wide, sparkling with tears and such emotion that John felt an answering tumult in his heart. She touched his chest. Her hand was a gentle pressure to stop him.

But John didn't stop. He leaned close, closer. He brushed his lips across hers. The softest of kisses, testing, exploring. It was a gentle, cautious motion of his mouth on hers. He leaned back from her, gaze assessing. Before she could protest he leaned in and kissed her again. A deeper, longer kiss to fully taste her, to taste her sorrow and her dread and her tears. To tease out the yearning and the desire with every motion of his lips, then his tongue as her mouth opened to his.

Moira suddenly pulled him closer, all restraint, all hesitation and dread gone as she only knew she needed him, wanted him. She didn't care if any of it was real or not. Soft whimpers were trapped in her throat as kiss followed kiss. As the passion grew and grew and all words were dissolved, were gone.

She suddenly found herself on her back, scooted up the bed as John deftly maneuvered her. His hand was sliding up under her shirt, under her bra to cup a breast. To gently squeeze and fondle, to run his calloused fingers over her nipple, making it harden under his touch. She felt something very hard and very long against her thigh, angling to move between her legs and realized with a start that it wasn't his gun trying to probe her most intimately.

John kept kissing her as the passion grew, as his hunger for her grew and grew and could no longer be denied. He fondled her bare breast, fingers sliding along her skin as he shifted his body to align with hers, careful of the cast imprisoning one foot. He wanted her. God did he want her, and he persevered to achieve his objective as she squirmed and whimpered. As her hands ran all over him, yanking at his shirt, his arms, her nails running up under his shirt to scratch his bare back.

This was the woman he wanted and nothing would stop him, no one would hinder him.

This was the woman he wanted under him, surrendering to him in the throes of passion.

Moira lost herself in his kisses, his seductions. She lost herself in the very feel of him, his hard, trim body, the muscles flexing with each movement. The taste of his full, perfect lips, the teasing of his tongue, the way his scruff scratched against her skin with erotic enticement.

There was a knock on the door.

Moira froze. She broke from a kiss, turning her head to view the door. She tried to move but John's weight was pinning her down. His warmth was enveloping her. His erection was practically thrusting into her even though they were both fully clothed.

"No." His voice was gruff, low and utterly male and it caused a shiver to run along her skin. It caused her lower body to tighten, to flood and he softly groaned into her hair as if he could feel her sexual reaction to him. He ran kisses up her throat. He nibbled her earlobe as he kneaded her bare breast. His other hand brushed along between her legs and she softly moaned, shifting under his bold touch. John groaned against her skin.

"John." She caught his arm as the knock sounded again.

"Moira? Moira, it's Evan. Are you okay?"

Moira squirmed, causing John to groan as she was deliciously rubbing his erection now. "John! John, no! John, this isn't right!"

"Feels right to me, baby," he muttered, but hearing the sudden panic in her voice he softly swore and relented. He sat, adjusting his pants, his shirt. His arousal was painful, insistent.

Moira scrambled to sit on the edge of the bed, quickly reached under her shirt to fix her bra. She stood shakily, grabbed her crutches and hobbled to the door. She waved it open. "Evan. I…sorry, we were talking about the, the camcorder." She blushed, stumbled back as Evan entered the room. His brows arched as he took in the sight of a flustered Moira, a disgruntled John. The messy bed.

"Sir?"

John stood, ignoring the demands of his body. "This had better be damn important, major. Moira was just about to debrief me." His voice contained ire, frustration. He glanced at her as she softly snorted at his double meaning. He flashed a quick smile, but she grew somber.

"Sir? Moira, were you ready to talk about what happened? How you survived?" Evan looked from one to the other, perplexed and suspicious.

"No. I mean...not yet. The colonel, the colonel was quite insistent but I…I can't." She looked at John as he met her gaze, green eyes narrowing. "I'm sorry, John, but I can't. We just…can't."

"I was going to see if you wanted to grab some dinner, Moira," Evan offered, as John was silent, still staring at her. "Feel up to a meal?"

"Yes, Evan. Some real food would be nice for a change." She headed for the door. Headed back and took hold of the camcorder. Sheepishly she tucked it under one arm, hobbled past John whose gaze was blatantly roving over every inch of her. "Let's go, Evan. I am starving! Colonel Sheppard can let himself out. Can't you, colonel?"

"I was going to," he muttered, scowling. He watched Moira and Evan leave the room. John sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. He sat on the bed, hands on his knees.

He lay back with a sigh, unzipping his pants.

He would have to finish what he started one way or another before he could leave the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Bridge Over Troubled Water5

Moira and Evan were seated in the back of the cafeteria. They were eating dinner, quiet, companionable. As if it was just another evening in Atlantis. As if Moira hadn't have seemingly come back from the dead. The camcorder was in easy reach, in her lap. Moira knew it was ridiculous, amusing even considering where John had been only minutes earlier but she couldn't explain it or stop it so she didn't try to do either.

The cafeteria was quiet. Only a few tables were occupied by diners and their quiet conversations filled the cool air. Soft tones of meaningless words floated above the hum of machines and the bubbling of the city.

Moira could feel the stares directed at her, however. She touched the camcorder in her lap.

"How do you feel? I mean your foot," Evan ventured, trying to find a safe place to start. He set down his fork and eyed her.

"Tired. Better now, but tired. And my foot is sore. Carson said it will be sore for a while, as it heals."

"I guess any 'Gate travel is out of the question."

"Evan!" He smiled. "I think I would prefer to stay here, okay?"

"Okay, if you insist."

"You're not suggesting a return visit to Miocene Park, are you?" she suggested coyly.

"Moira!" She smiled. He laughed. "Ha ha. Hell, no!"

"Actually, Evan, it was quite fascinating. Wonderful, even, if you leave out the damaged foot, the infection, the delirium and the fact of being stranded there with limited resources."

"Yeah, right," he mocked, shaking his head. "I'll bump it to the top of my vacation list."

"Good! Just bring plenty of suntan lotion." They quietly laughed.

John scowled in the line as his tray was being filled. He was staring at Moira and Evan. Hearing their convivial tones, their quiet laughter. He inwardly swore as Evan touched her hand on the table and held it. John was unaccountably jealous and he couldn't understand the feeling. He stalked to an empty table nearby and sat, gaze locked on the pair.

"I know they expect a report. A, a full report," Moira noted with a sigh. She looked at the camcorder in her lap.

"Yes, but when you are ready, Moira. No one will rush you. We are all curious as to how you survived, and survived for so long. How you escaped the sub-Wraith. But all questions can wait until you are ready."

"I…it's going to be difficult for me."

"I can imagine."

"No. You can't." She met his gaze, serious. "You really can't, Evan."

Evan held her hand on the table. "You can tell me, Moira. You can tell me everything, you know. You are okay, right? I mean…apart from your foot."

"Yes." She looked up suddenly to see John staring at her. His gaze was somber, intense.

"Moira," Evan said, drawing her gaze back to him, "you don't have to be afraid. Whatever you did you did in order to survive. You got away from them, Moira, and that's all that matters."

"It…it was horrible, Evan. When I was…when I was with the sub-Wraith. When, when John, I mean when Colonel Sheppard let go."

"You were pulled away by those things. Screaming. Your foot was torn to shreds practically. You…"

She gently squeezed his hand as he stopped, emotions trapping his voice. "It's all right, Evan. I'm here now. I made it back. I survived. I don't blame you. I don't blame anyone."

"You don't? I would. I mean we did everything that we could, Moira, you have to believe that. If you harbored some resentment, or anger I wouldn't be surprised. No one would blame you."

"I don't blame anyone," she repeated, but his words echoed the darker emotions in her, the less logical recesses of her mind.

"Okay, then. When you give your report rely on the science. The bare facts. Concentrate on that and it will be easier for you, I think."

"Yes. Thank you, Evan."

"You know you can always talk to me, or to Carson, or even to Heightmeyer if you need to talk. Maybe after a beer or two, huh?"

"Yeah, maybe after three." They softly laughed.

John was tensing. Every muscle tensing as Moira and Evan were leaning close over the table, their voices falling softly. Their hands clasped, gazes locked. John was propelled to his feet and he found himself suddenly at their table. His quick strides had been silent, swift. "Major."

Evan and Moira sat back from each other, their hands drawing apart. "Sir?"

"I need a word with Doctor O'Meara. In private."

"Private?" Evan looked at Moira who was eying the camcorder again. He looked at John who was waiting. "Sir?"

"You heard. Go."

"Yes, sir. Moira, I'll get your favorite dessert."

She met his gaze, smiled. "Do you still remember what that is?"

"Of course! It's—"

"Caramel ice cream," John answered without thought. "Go."

Once Evan had gone John sat down. Not in the seat vacated by Evan but next to Moira, scooting the chair right next to hers.

"How did you know that?" asked Moira.

John shrugged. "I have no idea. Were you telling him? Were you telling him about how you survived or about us?"

"What? No! I wasn't telling him anything, really. Do you want my report now, colonel?"

"You know what I want, Moira, the same as you." She frowned and he smiled, finding her ire attractive and erotic. "As for your report we will need that too. In your own time but soon. How the hell did you survive, Moira, from a practical standpoint? How did you get away from the sub-Wraith in the first place?"

"Smilodon." She scooted her chair away, but moaned as her foot protested the motion.

"Come again? What?"

"I just told you, colonel."

"I need more than one word, doctor," he refuted.

"Fine. _Smilodon populator._" She smiled at his annoyance.

"Hilarious, Moira. And?"

"And? I just told you, colonel. Now why don't you run along like a good boy and let me eat my ice cream," she suggested.

John glowered but then he smiled. He touched her thigh. "Actually, doctor, I would rather take that ice cream and lick it off every inch of your body. Every inch. Every."

"Hilarious, John!" she scolded, coloring under his direct scrutiny. "Scoot!" She shoved his hand off her thigh.

"Yeah, we'll be doing that too. A lot of scooting and grinding and—"

"John! Go!"

He chuckled at her tone, and his low laughter slithered along her skin deliciously. "Moira." He pouted, giving her his best puppy dog look. He slowly licked his lips and she stared in rapt fascination. "Do I really have to go?"

"I…you…oh fuck," she muttered softly, causing him to slowly smile. A smile curved her lips but she grew serious. "This isn't real, John."

"It sure as hell felt real on your bed," he countered, but grew serious as Evan approached with two bowls of ice cream. "Hey, major, where's mine?"

"Yours, sir?"

"Ignore him. He doesn't like ice cream that much…unless it's beer-flavored, that is."

"And how would you know that?" John challenged.

"That wasn't much of a deduction, colonel, considering what I found in my room."

"What did you find in your room?" Evan asked, sitting across from Moira as he set down the two bowls of ice cream, but she ignored him, locked in a contest with John.

"Oh. Yeah, that's true, but you still knew about the ice cream part."

"That was simply deductive reasoning."

"Was it now? No, Moira, you knew, just as I knew that caramel is your favorite flavor."

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I told you, none of that was real."

"But this is real, now, so why are you being so obstinate about it?"

"What the heck are you two talking about?" Evan interrupted, looking from one to the other.

"Nothing," they said at the same time. They looked at Evan, then at each other.

"John doesn't like my hair cut," Moira stated. She pulled the ice cream to her and began to eat it, ignoring both men.

"Yeah, I like her hair longer but it will grow back," John agreed.

Evan shook his head. He began to eat his ice cream. "Okay. I guess. I'm just glad you are back, Moira. Heck, even if you were bald."

"Evan!" Moira laughed. Evan smiled. John smiled but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I'm just saying, Moira."

"Charming, just charming," she noted. She looked at John. He was watching her. His gaze was unnerving suddenly and she fumbled with the spoon in her hand. She set it down, stood awkwardly, shoving back from the table and grabbing her crutches.

"Moira?" both men said at the same time, exchanging a glance.

Moira clutched the camcorder along with the crutches. "Sorry. I am so tired. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

Both men watched her limp out of the cafeteria.


	6. Chapter 6

Bridge Over Troubled Water6

Moira couldn't sleep. She was prone on her back on her bed in her room, in the dark. She had the cast awkwardly off the bed but it was still heavy, still an encumbrance every time she tried to turn onto her side to sleep. At first she was afraid the nightmares would plague her, memories of the sub-Wraith and the terrifying escape from them.

Instead the sensual memories of John Sheppard kept her awake.

She turned onto her side with a moan and powered on the camcorder. She stared at the footage from the expedition, the brief moments of John laughing at something off-camera. She froze the image, staring, staring. Finding comfort and solace in this man, in the image of this man and the rapport she had created in her mind with him.

The real John Sheppard was entirely another matter.

He was even more handsome in person, so startling gorgeous Moira couldn't quite believe he was real, and moreover that he had formed some kind of odd attachment to her. She let her mind dwell on the feel of his body pressed to hers, all that maleness and hardness and length. She let her mind dwell on the taste of his full, perfect lips, that Cupid's bow of a mouth which had consumed her, seduced her, and had utterly drowned her in sensual promise. She recalled the feel of his hand on her bare breast, the fingers caressing, possessing, his touch gentle and a little rough at the same time.

Moira sat, flustered. She shut off the camcorder, as if she had somehow betrayed the man on the screen with thoughts of the man in reality. Her foot ached, but the pain was manageable.

It was too quiet. The utter silence disturbed her. Alarmed her. She scooted off the bed and pulled on some clothes. She grabbed the camcorder and one of the crutches and headed out of her room. It felt like the walls were closing in on her, like the silence was stifling her.

She needed to escape, and knew just where to go.

xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx

John was restless. He tossed and turned, turned and tossed. Swearing he finally leapt out of his bed and began to pace. The floor felt chilly under his bare feet as he walked back and forth, back and forth. The night was peaceful, quiet. City lights glimmered and threw an amber glow upon his small bed, upon the tangled sheets. John swore and snatched his running shoes. He pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants to go with his gray t-shirt and pulled on his shoes. He knew exactly why he couldn't sleep.

He wanted sex. He wanted sex with Moira and couldn't understand why he wasn't getting it.

By all rights he should have been in her bed now, naked bodies entwined and passionate orgasms following one upon the other upon the other. Instead he was in his room, alone and frustrated. Angered. He exited his room and began to run, a steady jog to work off the excess energy, the frustration, the hunger his body was experiencing.

It wasn't hunger for any food. It was hunger for a woman. One woman.

He jogged along, taking the stairs two at a time and reaching the upper levels of the city which were mostly deserted. He increased his speed, hoping he could at least douse this frustration in physical exhaustion. He tried to think of other things, less sensual things but his mind kept roving over Moira. The feel of her body under his. The feel of her naked breast in his hand. The taste of her mouth yielding to his. The soft murmurs and other sounds she had made that had aroused the hell out of him.

Why the hell wasn't he fucking her by now?

He ran and ran. His shoes were mostly quiet. Only faint echoes chased him up and down, up and down the catwalks where he chased imaginary foes. Where he ran from his own desires. Tiring at last he slowed to a walk and headed back down to the cafeteria. It was deserted. He almost grabbed a beer, his hand hesitating in front of the alcoholic beverage as if a force field was blocking him. Instead he grabbed a bottle of water. He drank greedily. Water ran down his chin and he wiped his face with the back of his hand.

He began to stroll towards his room, but veered seeing a couple of marines chatting quietly, nodding and heading towards him. Their guns were slung casually but clearly they had been investigating something. "Rollins, Little, report."

"Sir!" Henry Rollins almost saluted, but seeing his commanding officer in such casual attire and at two in the morning he settled for a ramrod straight posture. "It was nothing, sir. Motion on the southeast pier, but it's just some woman out there, that's all. Nothing to report."

"Oh. As you were." John began to stride past them. He stopped. "What woman?"

"A scientist, sir. That one who came back from…" The marine didn't get to finish his sentence as John broke into a sprint and was gone.

John slowed, stopped. He silently opened the door and stepped out onto the southeast pier. A cool breeze hit him, ruffling his hair and his clothes, chilling the sweat clinging to his body. The soothing sounds of the ocean could be heard as the tide came and went, sloshing along the pier below the city. The tang of seawater filled the air. It was mostly dark except for the city lights bathing sections of the pier in amber hues.

Bathing Moira O'Meara as she sat near the wall, camcorder on her lap as she stared at it.

John watched her a moment, emotions conflicting, coalescing. The wind stirred the strands of her shorter hair as it fell softly past her shoulders. One knee was bent, the other leg extended as the cast was slightly turned onto its side. He cleared his throat, a quiet sound so as not to scare or startle her.

Moira heard the noise and looked over, startled nonetheless. She stared, surprised to see John Sheppard standing there in the shadows. His gray t-shirt and pants all but made him invisible until he stepped into the light and suddenly sat next to her. "John?"

"Hey, Moy. Couldn't sleep? Me either." He stared out at the waves, his tone casual, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary to be sitting on the southeast pier with her at two in the morning.

Moira's fingers curled around the camcorder as she watched him. She admired his handsome profile, the strong features, the full lips, the sexy sideburns, the hint of scruff along his jaw, the elfish ear, the long neck. A bead of sweat trickled down the nape of his neck, disappearing into his t-shirt and Moira stared in complete fascination. "Okay."

"Okay," he echoed. He licked his lips. Took a sip of the water and turned, silently offered it to her. She shook her head. He shrugged, set the bottle aside. He glanced at the camcorder screen to see the footage of him frozen on it. He met her gaze. She blushed and eyed the camcorder, turning it so he couldn't see but he already had. She tensed, as if bracing for a hit.

John's brows furrowed as he didn't know quite to what make of this. His seeming rival was himself, not even an alternate self but a picture of himself. He scooted a little closer to her as the cool breeze was penetrating his thin clothing and no doubt was doing the same to her. He got his confirmation as he stared at her breasts, could see her hardened nipples poking the olive green fabric and he wondered if she had on a bra. It didn't look like it and the cloth softly enfolded every curve and swell without any interfering material underneath it.

"It was too…it was too quiet," she suddenly said into the silence. She stared out at the ocean.

"Ah."

She shut off the camcorder but still held it, still stared at the ocean spreading out beyond them in violet and black waves. "In my room," she clarified, feeling the need to talk. "It was too quiet. I am used to constant sound, constant noise. The cries of animals and the songs of birds. The chirps of bugs and the way the wind would sing through the trees. The gomphotheres would trumpet every morning at dawn and it would literally shake the trees." She smiled at the memory. "You should have seen them, John! They are magnificent animals, early elephants but not true elephants with adaptations like lower tusks at the end of a long mandible and an elongated skull and the…" She broke off, met his gaze. "Sorry."

He smiled. "Just go easy on the Latin, doctor, please. So these gomphotheres were early elephant-like animals?"

"Yes."

"That must have been one hell of a wake-up call in the morning," he remarked. He suddenly slid his arm around her, drawing her to him.

"John?" she squeaked, moving but he kept her close.

"For warmth, Moira. It's a little cold out here. So tell me, these early elephants—"

"No, they were early mastodons, actually, not true elephants."

"Oh. Sorry. So tell me," he resumed, amused by her serious correction, "these early mastodons were the size of modern elephants?"

"No. They were larger."

"Ah."

She snuggled then moved as if to flee. John drew her gently back to him. He took the camcorder from her and set it aside, out of her reach. He caressed her arm, gentle strokes up and down, up and down as she anxiously stared at the camcorder. "John—"

"No, Moira. I'm here now. Relax. Mastodons, you say? Like mammoths, then, huh?"

"What? No! Gomphotheres are not true mastodons, either, and mammoths are not mastodons! The diversity of the elephantid family was quite astounding in prehistoric times, John! The sheer number of species and variations shows the rich complexity of evolution and ecological adaptation to the…oh…I get it."

"Get what? Moira?" he asked, shifting to view her.

Moira was staring at the ocean again. She was trying to ignore the feel of his firm, warm body pressed to hers. She was trying to ignore the soothing strokes of his long fingers along her bare arm. She was trying to ignore the melodic cadence of his voice. She turned to view him. "Give me my camcorder, colonel."

"No. What do you get, exactly?" John asked, gaze narrowing in suspicion. For some inexplicable reason she always seemed to think the worst of him. It was beginning to annoy the hell out of him, and upset him.

"I get what you are doing, colonel, and yes, I could prattle on about prehistoric megafauna all night and eventually you would guide me to what you really want to know, about the sub-Wraith and how I got away but I already told you, damn it, I already told you so don't, just don't ask because I'm not ready and you have no idea, John, no idea what it was like or what they tried to do to do to do to me and you won't understand the—"

John kissed her. His mouth catching hers. It was the only way he could think of to stop her stammering, nervous chatter and accusations. A long, deep kiss, his tongue probing as his hand slid off her arm and along her waist. Fingers gliding up under her shirt to touch bare skin.

Moira drew back, brown eyes wide. "No! No, no, no! John, John, no!" She pushed, eying her camcorder as if it could save her. "Give me my camcorder!"

"Why? Afraid the guy on there will be jealous?" he snapped.

"Fuck you! Give me my camcorder!" She shoved, trying to move past him but he caught her, holding her in place.

"Fuck me? About time, baby! I've never had such trouble with a woman!"

"I bet your version of me in your head was easy, wasn't she? What the hell were you doing in my room, on my bed or do I really want to know?"

"You really don't want to know," he informed, baiting her. Pissed and aroused at the same time. He raised his brows in case she didn't get the message. "And every time, baby, every time I would picture you," he added crudely.

She did. "Oh eww! God!" She yanked free of his arm and he laughed at her reaction.

"Hey, baby, that's how it was, you know? Besides, what does it matter now? You are here now. I'm here now."

"That doesn't mean a damn thing!" She thrust herself to her feet, hobbled round him and leaned to snatch the camcorder off the planks.

John admired the way her pants hugged her shapely rear, taunting him, inviting his fingers to grab and squeeze. He moved abruptly, intercepting her reach and grabbed the camcorder. He held it a moment. Glowered at the device. He looked at Moira. She was anxiously eying it. He eyed the device again.

He threw it over the pier and into the ocean.


	7. Chapter 7

Bridge Over Troubled Water7

The water splashed, consuming the camcorder as it hit the waves and was gone. Submerging quickly and spinning, spinning as it became lost in the dark waters.

Moira's reaction was immediate, was violent. "NO!" She screamed, lurching to the edge of the pier as if she would follow after it.

John grabbed her around the waist and hauled her to safety. "Moira!" he barked.

"NO! No, no, no, no!" she cried, fighting him. She cried out in pain and his hold loosened. She fell to the pier, on her knees, the cast at an awkward angle as she scrambled to the edge. She stared into the dark waves, fingers clawing at the wood under them but the camcorder was long, long gone. She began to weep, hyperventilate, hysterical sobs coming and going as she began to beat her hands against the pier. Wood splintered but she didn't care, didn't feel it at all.

"Shit." John wondered if he had done the wrong thing. The very wrong thing. "Moira! Stop this, now! Damn it, Moira, calm down! It's just a fucking camcorder!" He moved to haul her away from the edge. He had just touched her shoulders when she whirled on her knees, almost hissing at him.

"NO! How could you? How could you! I need him! I need him!" she shouted, hysterical. She turned back to the waters, desperately searching but the waves revealed nothing. There was nothing but darkness.

"What? You need me, damn it! Moira, you need me! Moira!" He caught her arm but she yanked free.

She yanked free so violently she fell off the pier and into the waters. The ocean swallowed her.

John dove in after her.

xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx

Carson yawned. He shoved back from the table in the infirmary. He shut off the microscope and switched off the light. He yawned again. All of this late night research was taking its toll, but the Wraith were a threat that wouldn't stop so he persevered when he had time from his duties.

He stood, stretched and removed his white lab coat. He slowly trod out of the infirmary, anticipating falling onto his bed and finally sleeping for a few, uninterrupted hours.

Until the alarm began to blare.

Marines were running past him, but one stopped to grab his arm. "Get your kit, doc! We've got two in the ocean off the southeast pier!"

"Bloody hell!" Suddenly Carson was wide awake, all fatigue gone. He ran back to the infirmary to grab a medical kit and some blankets.

He ran onto the pier and stopped short, startled by the sight of a drenched Moira and John coughing as they were hauled up out of the waters by a length of rope. An ARC light was shining on them as they were rocked by the waves. The current was trying to pull them away but the ropes were guiding them to safety. John had his arm around Moira and she was holding onto him as they tried to swim.

Finally they were dropped onto the pier, rolling and spitting up water, shivering. John's arm was still around Moira but she flailed, trying to get free.

"Easy, love, easy!" Carson ran to her and pounded her back as she lay sprawled, coughing up more seawater. "There now, there now. What the bloody hell happened?" he flared.

"John," she said, still coughing, gasping but her rapid breaths weren't easing as panic seized her. "He, he took…he took…"

"Easy, love. Help me get her to the infirmary. John, what the hell did you take?" Carson asked, his Scottish accent thicker as anger infiltrated his tone.

John coughed, sat. "Gee, doc, I'm fine, thanks for asking." He wiped at his face, his hair. He was helped to his feet by two men as Evan and Carson were helping Moira to hers. "I just saved your life, Moira!"

"You fucking bastard! You took my camcorder!" She eyed the two men, teary. "He threw it into the waters!"

"So, what, you dove in after it?" Evan asked, glancing at John.

"No! I fell! But I would have gone after it…Evan, Evan, please, please, I need that camcorder I need my camcorder the camcorder the-"

"Easy, love, let's get you to the infirmary before hypothermia sets in. I'm sure that Evan can find your camcorder, right, son? Here we go. Bring him as well," Carson indicated John with a glance, almost as an afterthought.

John shook his head, shaking free of the men. "I'm fine! It was an accident, all right? Carson! Carson, damn it!"

"Lean on me, Moira, there now...I bet that cast made you sink like a stone, didn't it?"

"Yes, Carson…I almost made it to the bottom but then Colonel Sheppard grabbed me."

"I saved you, damn it!" he retorted, following. He stared at her. She was thoroughly drenched, dripping water as she was helped along the corridor. Her clothes clinging to every curve, every swell, and John felt himself reacting to her despite the situation.

"Here now, love. Up you go." Moira hoisted herself onto a bed, lifted her leg and set the cast up on the bed as well. "Evan, Evan, Evan, please!" She caught his hand as he stood near, worry on his face. "I need my camcorder! It's probably at the bottom of the sea now, but the currents might have moved it underneath the pier but you could find it, right? Right?"

"Of course, Moira," he soothed, exchanging a glance with Carson. The doctor nodded. Evan met her anxious gaze, smiled. "I can take a Jumper down to the very bottom of the ocean and scan for it. I will find it for you, don't worry, although it might not work after being submerged."

"That doesn't matter, I mean, I need the…thank you." She relaxed, sat back, shivering as Carson drew a blanket around her shoulders. "I know it sounds, sounds crazy, but I need…I need…" Tears spotted her vision.

Evan patted her shoulder. "It's all right, Moira. I will find it for you, I promise."

"Drink." Carson handed her a mug of hot tea. He turned to John who was standing near, eyes on Moira. An expression of ire and worry on his handsome face. Water dripped from his clothes, his skin. "Colonel, get this into you." He shoved a mug into the other man's hands. "Evan, she's fine now. I'll be sending her to bed in a tic. Why don't you go find the camcorder and then you can give it to her tomorrow."

"Okay, doc." He smiled at Moira. "I'll find it, Moira. Don't worry. Sir." He glanced at John and departed.

John grimaced at the taste of the hot tea but drank it anyway. He sat on the bed next to Moira and felt a shiver course along his skin. Carson handed him a blanket and he wrapped it around himself in a useless attempt to get dry and warm.

Moira set the mug aside. "Thank you, Carson. I'm fine. I want to take a hot shower and then get into bed, all right?"

"All right, love. Come see me first thing tomorrow. I want to make sure that cast hasn't been compromised. Here…one crutch?"

"Yes, thank you, Carson." She got off the bed, taking the crutch. She glanced at John who was silent, watching her with a narrowed gaze. Words swarmed to mind but instead she left without saying anything.

John swore. He moved to his feet, dropping the blanket onto the bed. "What the hell?"

"I could ask the same of you, John. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I—"

"You threw her camcorder into the ocean? Why, for God's sake? Don't you realize the importance of that device to her?" Carson continued, not letting John answer. "She has formed quite an emotional attachment to it, and considering her ordeal that is nothing out of the ordinary! You can't just break that attachment all at once! You could have inflicted serious psychological damage onto her now and if she doesn't get it back I don't know how far you may have set back her progress and recovery! You have—"

"It's not the fucking camcorder! It's me, doc! She has an emotional attachment to me! To a picture of me on there, but I'm here now so she doesn't need that!"

"A picture of you?" Carson asked.

"Yes! So yeah, I probably shouldn't have done that but I did it anyway. Moira has to realize that I am right here for her, and always will be. Just like she is here for me now. That she is home at last and I won't, I won't lose her again, ever. I will keep her safe and out of harm's way and nothing, no one will ever get between us again."

"It sounds like you have formed an emotional attachment to her, John…but you only just met her. Again? What do you mean, again? John…no. You are referring to that alternate reality, that other Moira, aren't you? John, they may be the same woman on the surface but they are not. Not at all. You can't assume that your future will be the same as your alternate's."

"I know that, but she…I…she…I…" He glowered. "Forget it. I'm going to bed." He stomped away from the doctor, leaving a trail of water in his wake.

"John, I can't forget it. John! You both need time before you can even begin to contemplate any sort of relationship. John!" Carson sighed as John ignored him, leaving with quick strides. "When did I become the relationship therapist?" he wondered aloud.


	8. Chapter 8

Bridge Over Troubled Water8

Moira swallowed. She swallowed again, nervous. She balanced on one crutch, looked up and down the hallway. It was empty. Quiet. She hesitated. It was late morning. Just another day in Atlantis, except that both she and Colonel Sheppard had almost drowned in the early hours of the morning. Evan was still looking for her missing camcorder. She felt naked without it, as if a piece of her was missing. She knew it was ridiculous, stupid, like she was a child that needed her teddy bear but she couldn't help the feelings.

She knocked on the door. "John? Colonel Sheppard?" She raised her voice. Knocked again, rapping her knuckles on the hard door. "Colonel Sheppard!"

"What?" he barked, opening the door.

Moira stared. He was irate, pissed. He was incredibly sexy, dangerous. His hair was wild, sticking up all over the place in delicious unkemptness. He had on a black t-shirt that was rumpled and a pair of gray BDU pants that were clinging to every hard, long line of his lower body. His handsome face was shadowed by stubble. His green eyes were hard as diamonds. His full, perfect mouth was forming a scowl that she found utterly irresistible.

John stared at her, his gaze roving up and down, over her shorter, loose hair, over her lilac shirt and khaki pants. The cast was a white lump on one foot as she leaned on one crutch. "Well?" he snapped, impatient, but curious as to why she had come to his room.

"I…I'm sorry." He was silent, meeting her gaze. His expression revealed nothing. She frowned at his silence. "About last night, um, this morning. You, you risked your life to save me when I fell. Thank you." Still he was silent, as if waiting for something. He touched the wall, almost slouching in the doorway now, his pose indicative of a casual impatience, almost boredom. He lifted his arm, hand running along the doorframe and his shirt lifted, giving her a teasing glimpse of his flesh. "I, I know it must have been difficult, I mean since I was sinking and the cast, the cast was weighing me down and the current was awfully fast and I just wanted to thank you and to say I am sorry but you really shouldn't have done what you did that precipitated this whole thing in the first place." She paused, taking a breath as her nervous voice revealed a stammer. She stared down at the cast on her foot, unable to meet his unforgiving gaze.

"Ah."

Her gaze shot up to him. "Ah? Ah? That's all you have to say to me?" she flared, angry. Her brown eyes flashed ire as he just stood there, looking at her, expression neutral. As if they were discussing the weather or some other innocuous topic.

John's lips quirked into a smile as her anger aroused him. "Yeah."

"Fine. Thank you, Colonel Sheppard." She turned and started to hobble down the hall. "You fucking bastard," she muttered under her breath.

John smiled. He sprinted after her, caught her arm and nearly knocked her off her feet. "Not so fast, O'Meara. In."

"What?" She was pulled gently towards his room. Into his room. She stared round, balancing on the crutch as he shut the door and drew her to the bed.

"Sit. Sit!" he ordered.

Moira sighed and sat on the bed, placing the crutch next to her. "Well?"

"Well?" he echoed, sitting next to her. His thigh pressed hers again. "Carson says to wait, but I say fuck that. I'm tired of waiting, Moira. So fucking tired and now that you are here I can't quite remember half of whatever it was I saw or thought I saw and then, then there's the other Moira and she's with the other me, you know, but Carson says that doesn't mean that will happen here and I know that."

"What?" she asked, baffled by his words. "John, you're rambling. You…you're drunk!" she accused, smelling a whiff of alcohol on his breath.

"Is it any wonder, Moira?" he challenged. He touched her arm. "Moira." He leaned close but she drew back, making a face. He chuckled at her reaction. "Hey, baby, I may not be entirely sober but I know what I want. And how I want it. And how often I want it."

"Charming, colonel," she acerbically noted, but he smiled and drew her to him. "John!"

"Now." He kissed her. It was a sloppy kiss as his mouth devoured hers. Easing her lips open a little roughly and then thrusting his tongue in to play, to probe. At the same time his hand dove between her legs and he shoved his fingers between her legs. He made a deep, grunting sound feeling her heat and could only imagine how snug and tight she would be.

He almost shivered at the thought of it.

Moira squirmed at his probing but returned the kiss. Suddenly she was as eager as he was. She pulled him onto her as she fell back onto the bed. Kiss after kiss as she opened his legs and all but invited his fingers to caress and stroke intimately. Her fingers slid up under his t-shirt and her nails clawed his bare back. She could feel his muscles flexing, all that strength, all that maleness and she could only imagine how it would feel to have that all over her, inside of her.

She almost gulped at the power he had.

John groaned into her mouth and ran his kisses along her throat. He nibbled her earlobe and undid her pants. He unzipped them and thrust his hand into them. His fingers encountered the silky material of her panties and he grunted, feeling her heat, her moistness as her body reacted vividly to his. "Fuck," he growled against her skin. His fingers probed, slid under and felt the nakedness of her mound, realized she must have shaved nearly everywhere.

He almost came in his pants.

Moira squirmed at his touch, at once gentle and rough. His fingers were probing her panties then her bare skin, stroking her into erotic readiness. She whimpered, gasped and arched as he yanked open her shirt, popping buttons in his haste to see her breasts. She pulled his face to hers again and devoured his mouth, sucking on his lower lip and nibbling as they simultaneously scooted awkwardly up, up the bed to be fully on it now.

Her lower body flooded as his fingers aggressively stroked.

"John!" she urged, voice breathless. He lifted, freeing her mouth to see the lilac bra. To see her breasts trapped in it, but the rosy nipples were hard points poking the lacy fabric. He smiled. He ran kisses along her throat as he yanked down the bra to bare her breasts. He ran his mouth down to them, sloppy kisses until he reached his goal and began to nibble, suck in earnest now.

Moira gasped, arching, grabbing as the sensual sensations were vivid, were unlike anything she had experienced with other men. The scuff on his face was an erotic abrasion, enticing. His mouth and tongue sucking and nibbling as his fingers still plied her cleft with more forceful intentions. Moira whimpered, cried out softly as he was practically bringing her and they weren't even naked yet, weren't even close to actual sex. "John!"

"Ssh!" he warned, but groaned and lifted to view her face. His fingers stilled between her legs. He eyed her. "Now? I mean, like this? Now?"

She caressed his arm. "Yeah."

He smiled. But he sat suddenly, freeing her although his erection was a painful pressure against his pants now. "Why?"

"What?" she asked, feeling a shiver as the cool air hit her wet nipple. She shoved down her bra, closed her shirt over her and shifted as his gaze ran all over her body, then back to her face.

"Why?" he repeated. He couldn't believe he was stopping, he was hesitating. But something didn't feel right although his body argued that everything felt right. Very right.

Moira stared at him, suddenly self-conscious at her disheveled state, at the way her body was responding to his, wanting his, wanting him in a very naughty way indeed. "Um…isn't that obvious, colonel?" She sighed as he didn't even smile. She sat awkwardly, shifting on the bed, moving her cast with a wince of pain. "John?"

"Why?" he repeated for the third time.

"What do you want me to say, John? Isn't it obvious? Sex." She touched his thigh, playfully ran her hand up to catch the hard length of him. He groaned as she squeezed, squeezed. "Wow, colonel, that is some heavy ordnance you are carrying. Do you have a permit for that?"

John snorted. "Moira! Answer the fucking question!"

"Wouldn't you just rather fuck me, colonel?" she asked sweetly.

"Ah."

"Not that again! What?" she snapped, freeing him. "John!"

He moved to his feet, rather awkwardly as his pants were tenting out in a very obvious way. "Get out."

"What?" she exclaimed, stunned. She stared at him but he was quite serious.

"You heard. Get out."

"What? What's the problem, John? You can get it up, obviously. I mean really obviously," she sneered, eying his crotch for a moment before meeting his gaze. "John? Are you trying to tell me you don't want sex because junior there certainly does. It's all right, sweetie, I won't bite unless you want me to. John? Don't you want to have sex with me?"

"Of course I do, damn it, but not like this!"

"You mean you want to do it in another position?"

"No! Yes! No, you know what I mean, Moira! Fuck!" He turned away from her. Trying to control his emotions, his physical reactions. He wanted nothing better than to pounce on top of her and just take her, but he forced himself to wait.

"Then what's the problem, colonel?" She moved to her feet, grabbed the crutch. "Oh, I get it. I'm not your type, is that it? No. What, then? I thought that's what you wanted from me, just some quick sex to get this whatever it is, this false whatever out of our heads? Is that it? It's a good idea, actually, John. So what's the problem?" She ran her hand up his back against the t-shirt. She could feel his tension. "I'm sure your performance would be more than adequate."

"Fuck!" John swore. Her teasing and sarcasm weren't making him angry. Her words were making him horny. He whirled, caught her, and propelled her backwards against the wall. She gasped; dropping the crutch as he gently shoved her against the wall and kissed her. A hot, searing kiss as he thrust his body onto hers, roughly angling in a simulation of sex.

Moira whimpered, moaned as his very hard erection was poking her intimately, slamming into her. Her pants were still undone and suddenly both pants and panties were gone as John yanked them down, down and practically ripped them off one leg. He groaned, undoing his pants, unzipping them with a savage intensity as his gaze bore into hers suddenly. Just as suddenly as he thrust up into her.

Moira cried out in surprise, in excitement, in wonder at the sheer size and length of him. She arched, grabbing onto John's arms as he thrust and thrust, shoving her up the wall with each exertion. He groaned loudly, lustfully, happily as she was exactly as he had imagined her to be. Lush and wet, tight and hot and he increased momentum. He grabbed her bare rear and squeezed so tightly she yelped. He angled her, stepping back a bit so she could fully accommodate him.

"How's that, baby? So fucking sweet," he growled, grunting as they were racing, racing towards the climax now.

"John! John, oh my God, John, John, John!" she stuttered, stammered, whimpered as the pleasure was a hot, swirling rush that engulfed her. She cried out loudly as the orgasm shook her, the climax so vivid she thought she would die right there on the wall.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" John exulted, groaning so loudly he sounded as if he was in pain but he wasn't. He came wildly as she tightened and pulsed over him. Wave after wave of orgasm relieving him, pleasuring him. He kept moving. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough by far.

"John!" Moira cried again as he relentlessly plied her, plied her until she cried out again, tears in her eyes as the pleasure and the possession were almost too much. She clawed his arms, squirming but he was so big, so long she couldn't get away from him if she tried.

John kissed her, hard. His tongue thrusting in time to his cock now until he suddenly freed her after one long, hard penetration that practically shoved her up to the ceiling. He lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed, set her on her back upon it and fell onto her. He kept kissing her, kissing her, yanking away the bra to touch every inch of her, to kiss every inch as she squirmed and writhed under him.

He sat suddenly. Breathing hard, but there was a lazy, smug satisfaction in his eyes that made her stare, that made a cold dread wash over her.

"John?" she asked softly.

He licked his lips. "You can get out now."


	9. Chapter 9

Bridge Over Troubled Water9

Moira stared, speechless. She gulped in sheer uncertainty, dread, anger, embarrassment. It was as if her worst fear had come to pass. That now he had gotten what he wanted from her he wanted nothing more to do with her. He was the consummate ladies' man always on the prowl. He was so different form the man she had imagined, the man on the camcorder she was at a complete loss. "What?" she squeaked.

"You heard. You can get out now." His voice was mild as his gaze roved over her. Their bodies were hot, sweaty and sticky with sex and thrumming with sensual pleasure. He ran a hand through his disordered hair. He pulled up his shorts, his pants and set about fixing his attire. As if was just another day in Atlantis. Another meaningless sexual escapade that had been incredibly satisfying for the both of them.

Moira swallowed. She scrambled off the bed. To her chagrin her panties and pants were on the floor across the room. She hastened there, limping and lurching, giving John a clear view of her bare rear which he thoroughly enjoyed. He watched her awkwardly put on her panties, her pants. She stumbled, falling backwards.

John rushed to her, caught her. He pressed her body to his. "Pert little ass," he said hotly into her ear. His hands slid up to cup her breasts, to fondle and knead.

"Let go of me!" she flared, trying to turn towards him, squirming in his arms. She shoved free and grabbed her crutch. "Fuck you, John!"

"Yeah, you just did, baby…and it was fucking sweet too."

"I hate you!" She limped to the door. "You fucking bastard! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! Stay the hell away from me, you fucking asshole!" She was in tears as she waved the door open and hobbled out of his room, pulling her shirt closed over her.

John watched her go, wanting her again. Wanting to take her sweet and slow. Wanting to take her roughly from behind. Just wanting her. The sex hadn't assuaged his hunger for her. Somehow it had only made it worse. He smiled, but sighed. He knew he should have waited but he just couldn't. Not when she wanted it as much as he did, maybe even more. He didn't care about her motives or reasons, he only wanted her and now he had had her.

He wondered at her reasons, however.

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Moira showered, alternately furious and heartbroken. Weeping and swearing in a maelstrom of emotion. She toweled off as if trying to erase every sensation of John on her, in her, every memory, every taste and touch and scent and bodily fluid that had joined them in an amazingly erotic and sexual rush. She dressed and sat on her bed, brooding.

She tried to figure out his motives, although his motives seemed all too clear. Yet she couldn't quite believe that was he had wanted. Just sex. Especially after the emotions between them, the bold assertions that John had made about losing her and never letting go again. His nonsense about a life he had glimpsed with her and then a fairy tale about some alternate Moira with an alternate John. It didn't make any sense and she couldn't understand the man.

Things were so much simpler with the man on the camcorder.

A knock roused her out of her gloomy thoughts. She stood and hobbled to the door, hoping it was John and he would apologize and make things right again. She opened the door. "Oh."

Evan smiled at her. "Hey, Moira. I found it." He held up the camcorder for her to see. "It was in a trench a few miles out from the pier, carried there by the current but I found it for you."

She took the camcorder. "Thank you, Evan."

He stared. She sounded bland, tired. "Are you okay? I mean you don't sound too pleased to have it back and you all but begged me to find it for you."

She met his gaze, hearing the accusation. "I know. I'm sorry, I am grateful, really! I just...um..I am just tired, is all. The foot." She glanced at the cast. She had forgotten all about her injured foot during the wild sex with John. She felt the pain now, however.

"Oh. Maybe you should see Carson then," Evan said, disappointed. He had been expecting a more enthusiastic response. "Are you sure you're okay, Moira?"

"Yes. Sorry…I, I am going to work on that report. So I can get it over with."

"Do you need any help? You don't have to give it until you are ready, you know. Has Colonel Sheppard pressured you in any way?"

She blushed, torn between a smile and tears. "No, not at all. I just want to get it over with." She could hardly tell Evan that his commanding officer had just fucked her brains out with extraordinary passion only to seemingly dump her afterwards.

"Understandable, Moira. If you need any help let me know."

"Thanks, Evan." She smiled at him. "I will stick to the facts, to the science as you suggested. Then we can get back to normal, well, once my foot is healed, that is." 

"Yes, you can't go traipsing through the 'Gate like that."

"I guess not. I should get to work on that report. Thanks for this." She touched his arm, stumbled back and closed the door.

Evan stared at it, suspicious.

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John sat in the cafeteria, musing on Moira. He couldn't decide what to do, what to say. Apart from wanting her sexually again everything else was a mess. He hadn't meant to hurt her but felt it was necessary to shake her out of whatever illusions she still held. To make her face her feelings for him, just as he was now facing his feelings for him. The real ones, not the ones imagined or pretended.

Things had been so much easier with the version of Moira he had imagined.

He sighed. Smiled. The sex had been good. No, the sex had been great. Fantastic, actually. He couldn't wait to get into her pants again. To get her into bed this time and take his time with her. Exploring every inch of her and then she could explore every inch of him. He shifted on the chair as his body agreed to his lewd ideas. He noticed women eying him. Realized he was slouching in the chair, wearing an expression of smug satisfaction still. He straightened, rubbed his stubbly chin, realizing he should have shaved afterwards. He should have showered afterwards but he liked the feeling of Moira still on him, in him.

"Here you are!" Rodney sat across from him. "You know there's a mission tomorrow, right? Unless you are too tired after your midnight swim."

"Ha ha. And it was at two am, not midnight. Wait, a mission?" he asked, scowling.

"Yes. Where's your head at? A mission to M1K439 because there was a possible—"

"That again?"

"What do you mean that again? John, are you all right? Did you hit your head or something during your swim because you are acting, well, you are acting oddly."

"Oddly? What do you mean?"

"The mission to M1K439!" Rodney clarified, irritated. "You didn't want to go there but couldn't give a cogent reason why, and now you seem to have forgotten all about it!"

"Oh."

"Oh? Oh? Is that all you have to say?"

"Yeah." John stood. "If you'll excuse me I have reports to work on before we go on that mission tomorrow, all right?"

"Sir? Are you pressuring Moira to give her report today?"

"Huh?" John met Evan's gaze as the other man neared, a frown on his face. "No. Is she giving it today?"

"Yes, apparently. I don't think she's ready, sir, and Carson said we shouldn't rush her or—"

"Oh, she's more than ready, major. More than ready." He tried to conceal the smirk as lewd images filled his mind. Moira all hot, eager for him. "It's about time we learned how she escaped the sub-Wraith and survived for over a month, wouldn't you agree? I, for one, can't wait to hear this." He strode out of the cafeteria.

Evan sighed, scowling. "What is his problem with her anyway?"

"What? Aren't you curious how she survived and got away from those things?"

"Yes, of course, but she's been through hell and we shouldn't push her. Sometimes I think he doesn't like her at all."

"Oh, he does. You don't know the half of it," Rodney noted, recalling the sheer despair John had endured when he had lost her. The grief for a chimera of a life with a woman he had just met.

"What do you mean?"

Rodney realized he had said too much. "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. Just don't underestimate his feelings for her."

"What? You've got to be kidding me!" Evan retorted, disbelieving. "Sheppard and Moira? No way. No way!" He almost laughed, but caught himself.

Rodney shrugged. "Stranger things have happened. Gotta go." The physicist made his exit before he was questioned further, or revealed more than he should.


	10. Chapter 10

Bridge Over Troubled Water10

Moira had been dreading this. She steeled herself, wanting nothing more than to get it over with, to get it behind her so she could move on and resume her normal duties once her foot healed. She sat in the conference room, the camcorder on her lap as she eyed the data pad where her report was displayed. The words were succinct, detailing what she had endured in emotionless, passionless language. She glanced along the table as it was being read.

Evan sat next to her, a reassuring presence as he studied her words. Emotions played across his face. Carson sat on her other side, shaking his head as he frowned in consternation. Elizabeth Weir sat at the head of the table, rapt in the tale of survival on an alien planet. She would glance up at Moira from time to time and softly smile. Rodney was also shaking his head, and he would meet her gaze in amazement and wonder. For once the physicist was rendered speechless. Moira would have smiled at that.

Except for John.

John had read it once, twice, his handsome face revealing nothing. Not a trace of emotion or reaction. Now he was staring at her, gaze pensive, slightly suspicious which made her fingers move on the camcorder. It was as if he was trying to read between the lines and that thought made her nervous. Very nervous.

"So it was a smilodon after all," John drawled, slouching back in his seat as his gaze studied her.

"Yes, colonel. _Smilodon populator_. The large feline was following the blood trial from my foot as the sub-Wraith were dragging me to their lair. They were beginning to claw into me, and their insect-like vocalizations were painful when the big cat appeared and attacked. They scattered, and so did I."

"You fell down a ravine and blacked out?" Carson asked. Blue eyes full of concern, compassion.

"Yes," she agreed, glancing at him but keeping her gaze on the data pad, keeping hold of the camcorder in her lap. "When I came to I was in a sort of…bower…like a great ape would create a nest of sorts. The proto-humans helped me. It was amazing! _Paranthropus roubustus_! They weren't human but were an evolution of a side branch of the human family tree, hominins. They knew how to treat my foot, how to use rudimentary tools and knew which plants would aid my foot and stem the blood. But they didn't know how to stop the infection."

"Did they communicate with you?" Elizabeth asked, fascinated. She glanced at John. He appeared equally fascinated, staring at Moira.

"Yes. Well, not with language because they only had limited vocalizations like the great apes, but they were very fluent in hand gestures and their faces were very expressive. They were very timid, however and fled whenever a threat was detected, another predator, for example."

"You survived on what foods they gave you, and what you had in your pack?" Rodney asked.

"Yes. There was plenty of water, and lots of fruit and nuts and other things. It was trial and error, finding what could be eaten and what couldn't be eaten. There were mushrooms and strange, flat grains that tasted like saltine crackers. I was so disorientated I didn't know how far I was from the Stargate but I remembered how Doctor McKay showed us how to use our radios to detect any kind of energy source."

Rodney smiled. "Yes. That was my idea, in case any member of our expedition was stranded."

"And it worked?" John asked, earning a scowl from Rodney.

"Yes, it worked." Moira briefly met John's gaze, then eyed the data pad. "That's how I found the Ancient lab. There was a very, very faint power source. A depleted ZPM. I could only get it to work on one console. The scientific data was fascinating, but it also helped me pinpoint the location of the Stargate."

"So you made your way back there. That lab…I bet it blocked the subcutaneous signal and that's why we couldn't locate you. McKay?" Evan asked.

"Yes, that is entirely possible. And using the bio-scanner would have been impossible as that planet was teaming with life. It would have been impossible to single out your life sign or differentiate it from the other creatures on the planet," Rodney assured.

"Yes. I don't remember much about that trek back to the 'Gate. By then my foot was infected and I was fighting a fever, a delirium. I kept close to the bigger animals for safety from the predators. Chalicotheres, indricotheres, deinotheres and gomphotheres. Even a giant sloth or two." She smiled at the memory. "They were astounding! So beautiful and to see them living and breathing when all I had ever seen before were just fossils, just bones, I mean…you can't imagine how wondrous it all was! How magnificent every animal was, the sheer diversity of life on that planet! Animals long extinct on Earth are thriving there and perhaps even evolving and it warrants more investigation, more study and I…oh."

Evan had touched her arm, smiled warmly at her. A warning in his gaze she knew only too well.

"How did you dial the 'Gate?" John asked. His voice was quiet. The passion in her brown eyes, her enthusiasm and wonder captivated him. Charmed him and elicited softer emotions.

Moira shrugged. "I had to, um, I had to use Bath's hand. There was still enough soft tissue left on it to activate the DHD with my own hand and register as two ATA carriers."

Carson touched her shoulder. "That must have been horrible, love. I'm so sorry."

She met his gaze, grateful. "It was…but it was the only way. I took his GDO and his gun and anything else I thought I might need. There…there wasn't much left." She felt her stomach turn at the memory of the corpse, ripped and shredded, pieces all over the green, green grass.

"And you had to flee the 'Gate because of those animals?"

"Yes, Doctor Weir. The entelodonts."

"The what?"

"Giant pigs," John helpfully explained. He smiled briefly as Moira met his gaze, startled.

"Yes, colonel. They are carnivores. By then my foot was bleeding again and they had caught the scent. I was feverish and I didn't know if I was going through the 'Gate or not. I didn't know if I had contacted you at all. I didn't know what was real and what, what, what wasn't." She clutched the camcorder tightly as emotion rose to the surface. She felt tears but forced them away with a stern resolve.

Evan touched her arm again, caressed lightly. John glared at the sudden intimacy. "It's all right, Moira. You made it. You are here now and safe."

"Yes. I suppose of all people to be stranded on that planet a paleontologist was the best suited to adapt and survive," Elizabeth agreed. "I'm curious, though, about the sub-Wraith. Were they really a proto-Wraith species akin to the ones we know?"

Moira met her gaze. "Yes. Created from the Iratus bug and the _Paranthropus robustus_ and somehow evolving…but I'm not sure." She frowned. "I think maybe the Ancients were tinkering there, I mean there has to be more to their genome than that to produce a completely new species comprised of two entirely incompatible genomes. That lab proves the Ancients were there doing something."

"You said that ZPM was depleted?" Rodney asked.

"Yes. It had barely any power to it. If you're thinking of going there to retrieve it I wouldn't bother. It is probably drained by now."

Rodney sighed. That was exactly what he had been thinking. "Damn," he muttered.

Elizabeth smiled. "Sorry, Rodney. We'll find one fully loaded one of these days. Thank you, Moira. I know this wasn't easy for you, to relive it all, but your report is concise and full of information. I am amazed you survived this ordeal."

"Thank you, Doctor Weir."

"Yes, very concise," John remarked, but it hardly sounded like praise. His gaze hadn't left Moira at all.

She glanced at him, frowned. "Everything is in that report, colonel."

"Is it?" he quietly asked.

"Of course it is!" Evan defended. "Are we done here, Doctor Weir? I'm sure Moira could use a break from all of this. And besides, it is near dinner time."

"Yes, it is near dinner time!" Rodney agreed.

"I would hate to make you late for dinner, Rodney," Elizabeth joked, and quiet laughter encircled the table. Except for John and Moira who were staring at each other as if locked in a contest of wills.

Carson stood. "Let's go have dinner, then. Moira, how is your foot? Moira?"

Moira broke from John's stare, smiled at the doctor. "Fine. Just sore. How long will I have this cast on it?"

"A few weeks, I'm afraid. Until the bones heal. If it gives you any unbearable discomfort or any pain let me know and I can give you a scrip."

Evan stood, holding her crutch. "Let's go, Moira"

She stood, took the crutch in one hand, holding the camcorder in the other and followed the two men out of the conference room. Relieved it was over, but feeling John's gaze on her still.

"John?" Elizabeth asked. "Do you think she is holding something back?"

"Apart from the fear and the worry and whatever feverish delusions she endured of course not!" Rodney defended, eying John as well. "It's a miracle she survived at all! I don't think I would have under those conditions! Are we going to grab some dinner or are you going to sulk?"

"I'm not sulking!"

"John? If you have a legitimate concern I would like to hear it," Elizabeth said, puzzled by the military commander's intensity and suspicion.

John stood. "No. I have no concern. It was an amazing story, I agree."

"Are you suggesting it was just a story?" Elizabeth prodded.

"No, she told the truth. I have no doubt of that," John assured. "Let's grab some dinner, Rodney." 

"Finally!" The physicist headed out of the room.

Elizabeth frowned, wondering what John was seeing that she wasn't. She began to read the report again.

"John, you don't really think she lied, do you? I mean it was incredible but it is credible," Rodney said as the two men descended the stairs.

"She didn't lie. I'm not suggesting that at all." John fell silent. It wasn't what Moira had said, or had written in that concise report that made him suspicious.

It was what she hadn't said.


	11. Chapter 11

Bridge Over Troubled Water11

John sat on the bed. He was in Moira's room. Waiting. He checked his watch. It was getting late and he wondered where the hell she was. He had last seen her in the cafeteria, having dinner with Evan and Carson, their talk convivial and about everyday things. The men were easing her back into a normal routine, with ordinary concerns and ordinary conversation. Glossing over their reactions to her report, the stunning tale of survival and struggle now that she was back among them.

John still had questions.

He looked round room. It was cast into shadows and he leaned to turn on the lights. He liked the bed. It was bigger than his, softer, longer and he couldn't wait to have sex with her on this bed. Or the table. Or against the wall again. He smirked, considering his options.

Hearing voices he moved to his feet. Scowled, hearing a man's voice, then Moira's gentle laughter. He stalked to the door and stood, listening.

Moira laughed. "No way, Evan! No way! I don't believe you!"

"It's true, I swear!" Evan insisted, hand over his heart. "I am not kidding here, Moira not at all! They had fangs, I swear! Long fangs just like a vampire!"

Moira laughed again. "Come on! You really discovered vampire rabbits on the mainland?"

"Yes!" But he smiled, blue eyes twinkling as he stepped closer to her. "They had long fangs like vampires! Is there some kind of prehistoric vampire rodent?"

"No! And rabbits are not rodents, they are lagomorphs," she corrected, laughing at the pained expression on his face. "They have two sets of incisor teeth, one behind the other which is different from rodents which have—"

"Okay, okay, I surrender, doctor!" Evan laughed. "But I am telling you, Moira, these bunnies had fangs! Nasty big pointy teeth!" he said in a Scottish accent, quoting _Monty Python and the Holy Grail. _They laughed.

"Prove it, major! When I get rid of this cast take me to the mainland and we'll just see about this wild story of yours!"

"We will, doctor! And then you'll see I wasn't exaggerating."

Moira smiled. "I should get to bed. It's been a long day. Thank you, Evan."

Evan touched her arm. "Yes, it has. Moira, if you need to talk about it, you know. I know how hard that was for you. You were very professional, very calm." He glanced at the camcorder in her hand. "If you need me, Moira, I'm here."

"I know. Thank you, Evan. You are a good friend."

He stepped closer. He touched the scratches on her cheek. "You can trust me, Moira. With anything. You know that, right?"

Moira stared, uncomfortable. She stepped back and bumped her door. "Yes, I know, Evan. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Moira." He moved to brush his lips across hers. He smiled at her surprise. "You have no idea how glad I am that you are back here, safe and sound. Goodnight."

Moira gulped, staring after him as he walked up the hallway. She blushed, completely thrown by the sudden romantic interest Evan was exhibiting towards her. She turned and opened her door. She limped into the room, shut the door and froze. Two things caught her eye at almost the same time.

There was a vase of scarlet roses on the table.

John Sheppard was sitting on her bed, as if he had just moved there away from the door.

John was scowling at her. "Well? You didn't invite him in after your, what, your date? Did he kiss you? And you didn't invite him in after that?" He moved to his feet. "Did he kiss you?"

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" she snapped, grabbing onto the anger first.

He smiled. "What do you think?"

"Get out!"

"Not yet. So…answer my question! Did he?"

"What do you care, colonel? What are you doing here? Oh, let me guess…the roses? Were you planning on using my room for another conquest? Too bad, sweetie, I'm back now so you can take your roses and your libido and whatever woman you are expecting and get the hell out!"

John smiled. "The roses are for you, baby. And the only woman I am expecting was you. As for my libido, well, you are so fucking hot when you are pissed, baby." He moved to her, quick strides reaching her before she could move or react. He took the camcorder and set it on the table next to the roses. He turned to see her staring warily. "I have questions."

"About?" she asked. She limped to the bed and sat as her foot began to ache. She propped the crutch against the wall.

John stepped to her and sat next to her. His thigh pressed hers. "I want the unexpurgated version."

"Huh?" she asked, meeting his gaze but he was quite, quite serious now.

"You heard. I want the truth, Moira. The unvarnished, unedited truth. What aren't you telling us?"

"Everything is in the report."

"Bullshit."

Moira glared at him. "What do you want from me, John? I told you everything!"

"Bullshit," he repeated mildly.

"Will you just go away, colonel? My foot hurts and I am tired and I just want to go to bed."

"We will, baby, but first I need answers."

"We? What the hell is this, John? You—"

"What aren't you telling me, Moira? About the sub-Wraith. What did they want with you anyway? Since they didn't kill you right away they must have wanted you for something. And this smilidon cat came along at just the right time to rescue you?"

She squirmed under his scrutiny. "Yes!"

"Bullshit."

She sighed. Stood awkwardly and limped to the table. She breathed in the scent of the red, red roses. Curious as to why he would give her roses when he hadn't tendered an apology. Instead he was interrogating her. He had seen through her words when no one else had. "You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because the only way to get past this is to talk about it. To tell me. Me. No one else. And I won't tell a soul. Moira?"

She was staring at the roses, feeling tears. She wanted to believe him. She wanted him to be like the man on the camcorder but she had to keep reminding herself he wasn't. Wasn't he? She shook her head. "You don't want to know, John. You may think you know me, but you don't. You really don't."

"Then let me get to know you, Moira. You don't really know me either, but we will correct that. I need to know what you aren't telling me. What you aren't telling anyone. Come here." He patted the bed but her back was to him. "Moira, please. Come here."

She turned. She limped to the bed, sat near him. He scooted so his thigh was pressed to hers again. She studied him, uncertain. He touched her cheek, the scratches on her face. His touch as gentle as Evan's, yet it created a completely different reaction in her. He leaned close and kissed her. A gentle kiss. It was a loving kiss as he ran his fingers through her hair and tilted her head to guide her mouth for a more passionate embrace. Her hands slid along his arms, up to his shoulders as he drew her closer, closer.

She drew back suddenly, brown eyes wide. "John?"

"I'm sorry, Moira. I didn't mean to hurt you, but you…I…I'm not good at this kind of thing. Emotions. Tiptoeing around what we both want, we both feel. But I do need to know what you aren't saying, because I think it's important. For you and for me and maybe for the whole mission out here, I don't know."

"You, you mean my theories about the origin of the Wraith?" she asked softly, enchanted by his soft kisses, caresses. His warmth and the sincerity sparkling in his green, green eyes were captivating. Even his clumsy admission of not being good at this sort of thing was.

"Yes, that too. Why didn't they kill you outright, like they did Bath?" he asked gently.

Moira swallowed. She looked at her cast as her hands slid down his arms to his hands. His fingers closed over hers. Comforting. Warm. Giving her something to hold onto. Someone. "Because they, they needed me."

"Needed you? For what?"

"For, for the propagation of the species. For breeding." She glanced at him. He was staring at her, alarm on his handsome face. "Not like that! I mean…they…they were trying to, um, to insert their eggs into my foot, like an incubator, and were inflicting other scratches, rips on me to put more in…but I fought. I knew. Once the eggs were in me they would have to be, um, fertilized. Yes, exactly the way you are thinking," she said to his astonished gaze. She felt a wave of tears and looked down as if ashamed. "Two methods of, of reproduction, one insect, one human, as it were, I guess. When I got away I had to, I had to dig the eggs out of my foot with a stick…I had to dig them out and they tried to, I mean they tried to fertilize them by, by, they tried…they…"

"Ssh." John drew her against him as she dissolved. She clung to him, sobbing but only a few tears spilled from her eyes. The upheaval of emotion dry, causing deep breaths and a panic that John erased by just holding her. "And then you got away? The smilidon."

"Yes. Thank God it appeared when it did because I was fighting them but there were so many and their chittering voices were making me sick, making me dizzy! I, I couldn't tell anyone that because it…I mean…they…I mean…John, John, John, you have no idea how horrible it was!"

John kissed her brow. "All right, sweetheart. I'm sorry, but I had to know. I had to know if those things are a viable threat in this galaxy. Do you think they could ever access the Stargate?"

"No. They aren't advanced enough. But they…they could evolve. It is possible. The Hive mind could reach them, I guess. I don't know. There's…there's something else, John." She sat back a little to meet his gaze. She saw concern, distress and thoughtfulness. A warmth that she was afraid to put a word to but his lips suddenly brushed against hers as if in confirmation.

"What else, Moira?" He brushed a strand of hair from her rosy face.

Her fingers tightened on his. "I…I wasn't the only one there."


	12. Chapter 12

Bridge Over Troubled Water12

John waited, but Moira had fallen silent. She freed her hands from his and stood. She limped to the table and leaned upon it, staring at the red, red roses as if the flowers could give her the courage she needed. John remained seated on the bed, watching her.

"You're, you're going to think I am crazy. That's why I didn't want to tell anyone. Or they will ascribe to being ill, feverish and delusional but I wasn't. I mean I was, but I know what I saw. I know who, who helped me get to the 'Gate." She turned back to him, leaning on the table. "Do you want to know the truth, John?"

"Yes." He could see her distress, her worry. His voice was calm. His demeanor was mild.

Moira tensed. "The truth is…the truth is I was dying. Or close to it. I barely made it to the Ancient lab. I was barely able to haul myself there and to activate the console. I could barely read the screens. It was all gibberish to me. I was feverish, sweating and shaking all at once. I fell to the floor and I think I passed out. I don't know. The next thing I know there was…there was someone else there."

"Who?" John asked quietly, tensing at her words. At how close he had come to losing her forever. He clasped his hands together on his knees.

"I don't know. I mean…it was a woman." Moira turned away from him. She felt tears, dreading his derision, his disbelief, but she plunged ahead anyway. Having to tell someone even if he would think she was crazy or delusional. "The weird thing is she did look familiar to me, somehow, but I couldn't place her. I felt I knew her, but I didn't. She was pretty, with dark, curling hair and was dressed in clothes somewhat like ours, but with a long, long cloak that was gray in color. She…she wasn't an Ancient, if that's what you are thinking. She couldn't activate the console at all. She told me she didn't have the ATA gene."

"Not an Ancient, then," John mused, thinking.

"No. She was human…but more than human. Her eyes…they were green, but the pupils would slit like a cat's, or a Wraith's. But she wasn't a Wraith," Moira hastily assured, as if she could feel his alarm as he moved to his feet suddenly. "Not at all. She was human, but more than human. Evolved, maybe, I don't know. Anyway she helped me. Tended my foot and helped me to the, to the 'Gate because I couldn't make it on my own. Not then. And I had to use Bath's hand with mine to dial the DHD because she didn't have the gene."

"Not a Wraith, nor a human," John said, pondering. "Did she speak to you?"

"Yes. A little. She, she said it wasn't my time. I wasn't supposed to die yet because it would wreck the time line and they would be erased and she couldn't allow that."

"Who? Who would be erased?" John asked, coming up behind her.

"I don't know. She wouldn't say. She just said I had to make it back to Atlantis. And then she was gone. I don't mean like in a beam of light or a transporter or anything. She was just…gone." She turned to him, abruptly angry. "She was real, John, whatever she was! I could see her, feel her. She was solid, she was real! She cut out the abscess forming in my foot and helped me to the 'Gate! I don't know who she was but she knew me and knew about Atlantis and knew you!"

"Me?"

"Yes. She told me that Colonel Sheppard would come through the 'Gate for me. And you did. She wasn't an illusion, John, I swear!"

"Okay, okay, Moira, I believe you."

"Do you? Or are you just saying that to humor the crazy woman?" she challenged. "Get out. You may as well go now." She glanced at the door, back to him. "Well? I am giving you a graceful exit, colonel, so why don't you take it?"

"And why would I want to do that?" he drawled, tilting his head as his gaze raked over her. Flirting with her as he adjusted his stance and raised a brow.

She smiled, almost sighed with longing as she gazed upon the impossibly handsome man in her room. She shook her head. "You don't mean that. Go. You don't have to pretend, John. I know it sounds crazy. Sometimes I even wonder about it myself, now that I am back here."

John smiled. "No. I mean that. I've seen enough weirdness out here that I am willing to keep an open mind about anything. Hell, I went through a rift in space/time to an alternate Earth to save it from the Wraith, and met myself, sort of, and met you. So no, you don't sound crazy to me, Moira, or delusional. Come here."

"No. What do you mean, an alternate Earth? Another you and another me?" Now it was her turn to be skeptical, curious.

"Yeah. A parallel universe." He sighed, wishing he had a beer. "It was weird, I mean really weird, Moira. I was, I mean he was a detective in Las Vegas. They didn't even have a full Stargate program and they never went to Atlantis. And you, I mean she was a paleontologist. We, I mean they were married and had a baby. A son. Rodney was there as well, but he was well, Rodney. Just not as um, hyper or as irritating. Ah. Now you think I am crazy, don't you? I can assure it was all very real. Do you believe me, Moira?"

"Yes, John…as fantastical as that all sounds I do believe you. That does sound weird."

"I know. A detective of all things, and no Atlantis, and you were still digging up fossils and—

"No, the weird part is that they were married and had a kid."

John stared at her, surprised. "And why would that be weird, Moira?"

She colored under his scrutiny. She limped to the door. She waved it open. "You better go, colonel."

"Why are you always trying to get rid of me?" he wondered.

"Don't you see, John? All of this, it is coloring everything! What you saw, what I, um, imagined…it's not real, any of it. How can we know if, if we feel anything for each other? Apart from the sexual attraction, of course, that was real enough, but the rest? Seriously, John, we can't see clearly. We need time apart to define our emotions and to process our—"

"Fuck no." John's voice was quiet but his tone was forceful. He moved to her. Shut the door. He touched her arm. "I lost you once, Moira. At least I thought I did. And now I learn that I really almost did, if not for that woman, whatever she was. So no. It sounds to me like you are trying to pretend that this thing between us isn't real. What is between us right now. But it is, Moira. You damn well know it. So stop stalling, baby, because I hate wasting time."

She met his serious gaze. "You got what you wanted, colonel, and I guess so did I. Why pretend there was anything else? You…you can't have feelings like that…no one could after…" She glanced past him to see the camcorder on the table.

"James."

She met his gaze, startled. "What?"

"I don't know. The name popped into my head, but I don't know anything else, Moira. You tell me how I know that much, at least. Moira." He took her arm and guided her gently to the bed. They sat. "What was her name? That woman who saved you," he clarified, changing topics as Moira stared at him, shocked. "If she wasn't an Ancient or a Wraith what the hell was she? Did she give you her name?"

"Yes. Her name was Emily. John?" she asked, seeing his instant reaction. "John, are you all right? Do you know her?"

John had gone very still. He took a deep breath, released it. "No. I…that was…that was my mother's name." A deep grief surfaced in his eyes, a darkness of guilt and incrimination that Moira knew only too well from her past.

She touched his chest. She leaned close and gently kissed him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes locked with his. "It wasn't your fault."

"What?" He stared in shock.

Moira shrugged. "I don't know…I just…I see a guilt in your eyes that I know all too well. John, what is happening between us?" She was genuinely dismayed, uncertain.

"This." He drew her into a kiss. Another. He kept kissing her, soft, gentle kisses conveying love and not just sex. Wooing her now as more tender emotions surfaced, were given reign as his arms slid round her. His fingers ran through her hair and down her back, guiding her body to his. Their thighs were pressing, pressing. Her hands fluttered up his chest and she was making soft, little sounds that were arousing him.

Moira drew back with an effort, lost in his kisses, his warmth and his love. "John?"

"I don't care what it is, Moira. I don't care. I only want you. You." He kissed her again, hands sliding round to her sides, then up to cup her breasts. "Moira," he said in a low voice.

Moira lost her breath under his amorous attentions. She lost her objections when he freed her only to remove his shirt. She stared in rapt fascination at his lean, muscled chest and torso. At the dog tags glinting silver against his dark, dark chest hair. At his strong arms as he flexed them. His hands moving to lift her shirt. To lift it off her and toss it aside with a smile.

John stared at her lilac bra, at her breasts cupped within it. He leaned close to kiss her. To run his mouth along her collarbone and then down to the swells of her breasts, tasting, teasing. Moira's fingers had begun an exploration of their own, sliding along his arms, his chest, tugging the hair. Soft murmurs escaped her lips as John undid her bra and removed it. As his fingers, then his mouth played along her bare breasts.

Moira drew his face to hers, kissing him. The passion was growing, growing, was undeniable. She reclined on the bed, pulling him with her, onto her now. He shifted off her to undo his pants, to undo hers. Bodies wiggling as their garments were removed. Moira laughed, scooting up the bed and trying to keep her cast out of the way, off the bed. "John!"

He chuckled, sliding with her, tossing their clothes aside piece by piece. "Don't worry, baby, your legs are going to be wide open so that damn thing won't be in the way."

"John!" she laughed, squirming as he shoved her thighs apart and aligned himself on top of her now. Humor giving way to growing need, lust. She gasped, arching as he suddenly slid into her, a long, sustained thrust to fill her.

"Ah fuck," he breathed into her ear. He began a gentle rhythm. "My Moira. This is how it should have been our first time," he said into her ear. His motions increasing, increasing as he kissed her repeatedly.

"Oh John, John!" she enthused as the arousal flooded, as the passion rose and rose, as the pleasure swirled and swirled in delicious anticipation of the orgasm to come.


	13. Chapter 13

Bridge Over Troubled Water13

"Colonel Sheppard to the 'Gate room! Colonel Sheppard, please report to the 'Gate room!"

The announcement woke John. He blearily lifted his head, out of sorts for a moment. He smiled. He was sprawled naked on Moira's bed. She was spooning up against him as she was facing him on her side. Their limbs were entwined. He ran his hand over her hip, her breast as he scooted free of her. "What time is it?" he wondered aloud, glancing at his watch.

"John?" Moira stirred, hearing his voice. Feeling the loss of his warm, hard body pressed to hers as cool air hit her skin. She rolled onto her back, grabbed a blanket to cover herself as John sat and touched his ear.

"Where the hell is my earpiece? Moy?"

"I don't know." They exchanged a smile, the memory of the passionate evening. The loss of the earpiece had been the least of their concerns as their bodies had joined repeatedly. They looked round the bed. Moira scooted under the blankets, feeling round. She touched John's thigh, fingers snaking up to his crotch.

"Hey! I'm pretty sure it's not there!" he said, sounding indignant but actually enjoying her touches.

She snorted under the blankets. "Sorry, colonel…that ordnance is in the way."

"Hilarious, Moira!"

"I'm not kidding, John, it's so big I can't get past the damn thing!"

"Moira! And yes, it is. Ah! Got it!" He grabbed it off the bed.

"Me too!" She grabbed and squeezed. Squeezed hard.

"Moira!" He laughed, groaned as her fingers gripped and slid, gripped and stroked.

She laughed, emerged out of the blankets, freeing him. "Sorry, John."

"No, you're not. And neither am I." He smiled, kissed her. Restored the earpiece to his ear and tapped it. "This is Sheppard. Report." He grinned as Moira ran soft kisses up his bare arm to his shoulder. Her fingers caressed his bare back, nails slightly scratching in suggestive roughness.

"Jo-hn," she sang breathily into his ear. Circled and gently bit to make him moan, make him respond to the erotic invitation.

"John? Where the hell are you?" Elizabeth asked, sounding irate and concerned. "You are supposed to be leaving on a mission, remember?"

"A mission? Oh. Yeah. Shit," he muttered. He glanced at Moira. She had drawn back from him, blankets over her nakedness. She was watching him, oddly somber. Brown eyes full of love, of passion, of worry. Her rosy lips were parted as if she was going to say something but thought better of it. Her brown hair was loose, falling softly past her shoulders. The blankets concealed her naked body from him. Separated them.

He eyed her a moment. Pensive. Serious. His gaze locked with hers.

"John? Are you all right? You're not in your quarters. Are you all right?"

Elizabeth's voice jolted him out of the strangely intense moment. He looked round the room as Moira eyed the blankets. "No, actually…I'm not feeling too well. Must be something I ate. Let's scrub the mission until tomorrow, okay? It's not like it was vital or anything." He winked at Moira as she looked at him. She shook her head.

"John? You don't have to—" Moira began, worried. John held up a finger, silencing her.

"All right, if you're not feeling well. You need to go see Carson. Where are you?" Elizabeth asked. She shrugged as John's team were watching her.

"I got sick and had to clean up and…you don't wanna know. I'll see him later. Thanks, Elizabeth. Sheppard out." He tapped the earpiece. Thought better of it and removed it, tossed it onto the bedside table.

Moira touched his arm. "John? If you, if you have a mission you really should go. I mean, it's not like I am going anywhere, not for months, probably and then we…you…I…we…"

"I'm not letting go, Moira, and neither are you." He hesitated. He ran a finger up her bare shoulder. "We're on the same page, right? I mean us. You. Me. Together now. I mean you won't be going on any dates with Lorne while I am gone, will you?"

She smiled, charmed by the flare of jealousy. She tilted her head. "Hmm…won't I?" she teased, enjoying his sudden ire.

"Not hilarious, Moira!" he scolded. His gaze narrowed in reprimand. "Well?"

"John! I'm here in bed with you, for crying out loud! What do you take me for? I'm with you, sweetie, obviously!"

He smiled. "Okay, baby, I just wanted to be certain we're on the same page, being in the same bed and all." He kissed her.

"Men," she muttered, but grew serious. "John, seriously, you should go on that mission."

"Oh, I do have a mission, Moira. A very, very important mission." His brilliant green eyes sparkled as he grinned, solemnity dissolving as he yanked the blankets off her.

Moira smiled. "And what mission is that, colonel?"

"To fuck your brains out!"

xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx xXx

**15 years later…**

John felt a surge of pride as he eyed his two sons. Both boys were like younger versions of him with dark wayward hair and strong features. Both were clad in the green and black Atlantis BDUs. TAC vests adorned them but they didn't have any weapons, not yet, anyway. The men with them had weapons, the marines and Ronon Dex who were standing near the Jumper as the overhead doors opened to the blue, blue sky.

It was their first mission, and John couldn't have been prouder.

Of course it was only to the mainland, as they were both still boys, barely teenagers but they had to cut their teeth eventually on something and John had decided this was the best way. Moira had strenuously objected to any mission going through the 'Gate so John had acquiesced and given them the task of exploring the far side of the mainland. He would have gone with them but John realized the last thing the boys needed was their father tagging along like a babysitter.

So he had assigned Ronon the job.

John approached and the marines straightened. "At ease," he nodded briskly. "Johnny, Seamus, you might think this is unimportant but I assure you it is. We take nothing for granted out here. Not even the mainland. I want you both to treat this like a real mission, because it is. You will obey Major Reynolds because he is your commanding officer. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Johnny Sheppard said, his voice cracking a little as puberty was hitting. His younger brother smirked and earned a glare from his sibling.

"Yes, daddy, er, sir," Seamus Sheppard quickly corrected with a blush. His older brother snorted in derision. Seamus elbowed him in reprimand.

John smiled. "Go on, then. Report in one hour. And don't forget to film any unusual wildlife for your mother."

"Of course, dad. We know," Johnny said, shaking his head. He knew very well what to look for that might interest his mother.

"We'll find mom something prehistoric!" Seamus enthused with a grin.

"I bet you will, sport. Go on, off with you!"

The boys laughed, grew somber and followed the marines into a Jumper. The vehicle lifted and soon was lost to sight.

John strolled through the city, knowing where to find his wife. He merely thought about her. His enhanced, evolved senses telling him as the city did where she was and what she was feeling. His green eyes turned to slits then returned to normal. He entered the bio lab. Moira was standing at a microscope, muttering to herself and making notes on a data pad. John smirked, and moved to her. Silent. "Moira Sheppard!" he barked.

"Shit! John!" she complained, startled. The keyboard skittered across the table.

John deftly caught it with lightning fast reflexes, restored it as he laughed. "You are so hot in that lab coat, baby. Damn!"

"Shut up!" She turned, smiled at him. "Are the boys—"

"Yep, on their way to the mainland. Their first mission, Moy. Well, their first mission without me, I guess. But they will have to go through the 'Gate soon, you know."

"I know." She sighed. She ran a hand through her long hair. "I don't like it, John, I really don't."

"They'll be fine, Moira. Stop fussing. I told you…I saw it. They'll be fine. Otherwise I wouldn't have let them go." Along with John's other enhanced senses was the strange ability to see future events, however briefly, and not too far in advance. It was a very useful advantage for both the military commander of Atlantis and for a father.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!"

John turned, knelt as a little girl ran to him. She was smiling, dark curls bobbing as she hastened to her father. She had on a pink t-shirt and jeans with sparkles along the seam. "Ems! How's my princess today?"

"I wanna go with the boys," she pouted.

"Not yet, honey. You are still too young," John said, standing after giving her a hug, a kiss. "Are you helping mommy?"

"Yes, daddy! I was sorting the vials like she showed me. Mommy, mommy," Emily Sheppard said, moving to her mother, "can I go play now? You said I could after this! Can I? Can I? 'Lizbeth has a new doll and I wanna see it! Uncle Rodney said it came all the way from Earth!"

Moira smiled at her daughter. "Yes, go on, then, silly." She sighed as her daughter grinned at her father and ran from the room. "She has no head for science. Not like the boys do."

"Good! I am going to have one child who will be a pilot, damn it," John teased, "and won't babble on and on in Latin." He laughed at his wife's playful scowl.

"Daddy, daddy!" Emily ran back to him, tugged his hand. She stared up at him.

"What is it, princess?" he asked, causing Moira to roll her eyes.

"We won't be erased now, daddy. I saw it!" She grinned then skipped out of the lab again.

Moira turned to switch off the microscope. "One of her games, I guess. John, let's grab some lunch. Are the boys due back in an hour? John?" She looked at her husband.

John was staring after his daughter. Her words had triggered a memory, and he frowned, trying to recall it.

"John? Sweetie, are you all right?" She touched his arm. "You don't have to worry about Emily. Her tests were all negative this month. So far nothing out of the ordinary has shown up in her blood work or in her DNA. She's fully human, even lacking a single ATA gene. John?"

"I…" He couldn't explain. He couldn't put a word to it. A weird feeling of déjà vu had hit him. As if he had heard those words before now. As if a memory of a woman saving Moira from death had said those same words. He rubbed his brow, but the memory was already gone. He met Moira's gaze. "Sorry. I just thought…was that familiar to you at all?"

"What? Her prattling? She is always prattling, John. Ever since she could walk."

"No, what she said. She…" He touched his wife's arm. "When you were stranded on Pleistocene Park someone helped you and said those exact words to you…someone…"

"Some woman, yes, but I've told the story often enough to the children that they repeat it like that. I can't quite remember the details now. John? Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Or heard one," he muttered, but then it hit him. His daughter had been conceived while John had been mutating, evolving into something other than human. More than human. Not a Wraith or an Ancient but something entirely different. And now his daughter had seemingly inherited one of his abilities but to a greater extent. He smiled, wondering if the woman who had saved Moira's life all those years ago on Pleistocene Park had in fact been a future Emily.

Stranger things had happened in the Pegasus Galaxy.

Moira took his arm, concerned. "Let's grab some lunch, sweetie. You need to relax. Emily is fine. The boys are fine, and will be like you said. I'm fine. The city is fine. And if you are very good or very bad you may even get Sheppard's Delight for dessert."

John smiled, letting her lead him out of the lab. Setting aside his realizations, planning on telling his wife later to see if she would agree with his conclusion. To think that his daughter from the future had somehow saved her mother in the past made his head spin. But he knew it was right. He knew he was correct, and the thought warmed him. As if everything had come full circle. As if his perfect circle of wife and children had saved each other and him. "In that case I will be very, very bad, Moy…and very, very good if you know what I'm saying."

THE END


End file.
